The King in the Narrow Sea
by Scout261
Summary: Stannis, who doesn't love Stannis? Fanfiction following the one true King of Westeros, but with a few alterations. What if the King in the Narrow Sea didn't fall under Melisandre's spell? Would he listen to Davos more? Would he finally be a good father? Would he be King in truth as well as right? One thing is certain, he would remain totally badass.
1. Chapter 1: Davos

**NOTE:** _Having often wondered how Stannis would have fared without Melisandre's influence, I decided to try my hand at writing that story. Stannis is far and away my favourite character, yet Melisandre is my least favourite (except Lysa and Axell Florent!) and I wondered if he would be more likely to listen to Davos' usually correct advice without her. This fanfic is going to be Stannis centric, but will include other POV characters and areas of Westeros. I have altered the ages of some characters (primarily the Stark children) to make this story a little less weird and entirely to suit my own ends, so my apologies to GRRM. Finally, this is my first attempt at writing fanfiction, so constructive criticism is most welcome and if you have any ideas feel free to PM them to me. _**DISCLAIMER**_ – I own nothing, gods I wish I did, but I don't._

**_Chapter 1 – Davos_**

He had landed at Dragonstone only an hour ago, in the dead of night, and had already been summoned before his king. Did the man never sleep? When Davos entered the Chamber of the Painted Table, he found Stannis sitting in the chair as if he hadn't moved since he sent Davos to the Stormlands a fortnight ago. Once again, the King in the Narrow Sea was staring at that table, always at the table.

The Painted Table, at least fifty feet long and twenty-five wide at its widest, four at its narrowest, carved as a perfect representation of Westeros as it was when Aegon ruled Dragonstone. The chair where Stannis sat was in the exact position occupied by the island from which the Conqueror, and now Stannis, planned his invasion. Only, Stannis wouldn't be mounting an invasion, no, he refused to call it that, he called it reclaiming his birthright. Many called it folly, Stannis called it justice, and Davos, well Davos did his duty.

"You summoned me, your grace."

Stannis did not move or acknowledge the knight's presence, forcing Davos to try again.

"Your grace, you sent for me."

Though he now replied, Stannis still didn't look up.

"Ser Davos, good news I trust."

"I'm afraid not, your grace. I petitioned the Stormlords at your request, yet most turned me away. Lord Morrigen agreed to send an envoy, who did not deign to show up, and Lord Estermont did meet me, but only for the sake of family, and asserted that he was sworn to the Lord of Storm's End, not Dragonstone. From the rest I heard nothing."

The King's face did not change; the same grim, square-jawed, determined expression stared at the table, always the table, nothing but the table.

"So, my father's bannermen have as little honour as the rest. Does it matter so little to them that Renly is a fool? His prancing horses and pretty armour will not save him from himself. The Iron Throne is mine, by right. Tonight my bannermen will want to know my plans, yet I can offer them nothing but bad news. How long before they too forsake me?"

"Indeed your grace, but at present you cannot back your claim. You need allies, you must press your claim, and to do that you need help."

"And what would you propose?"

"Make common cause with someone who hates the Lannisters as much as you do. Seek out Robb Stark and Lady Arryn – they have the troops you need."

"The Stark boy would steal half my kingdom, and Lysa is practically insane, why should I seek their help? Melisandre says I do not need them, that her god will give me Westeros."

"Because you have only twenty ships and two thousand men, Stark has twenty thousand and the Arryn's maybe thirty, enough to make you King, that is why you should seek them out, and the red woman is not trustworthy, not to my mind."

"I am King, Davos. Do not forget it. I do not need them to make me so, and if I want your opinion on the Lady Melisandre I will ask for it."

"No, your grace, I won't forget. Yet you need allies."

"I have heard your counsel, Ser Davos, now leave me."

"Aye, your grace."

As Davos left the chamber, he noticed that Stannis' eyes had not once left the table in front of him, not during their meeting, nor did it as Davos left. All through the knight's report, the King had been staring intently at the painted representation of King's Landing. Though Stannis had no men, Davos suspected that he had a plan, and if that plan wasn't a suicidal assault on King's Landing then Davos wasn't a knight, and if that plan wasn't the red woman's then he wasn't a smuggler either. Davos chuckled, he knew the priestess's advice almost as well as she did.

That night, the King feasted his bannermen, and as predicted, they asked for his plans to claim the throne. Lord Velaryon called for an immediate strike, threatening to take his men home, while Lord Sunglass advised to wait for a sign from the Seven. Davos shook his head, his King had too many holy figures around him, the least of whom was Lord Sunglass. The red woman sat across from Davos, and appeared to be tormenting old Maester Cressen. She had the old man wearing the fool's antlered hat and the Lady Selyse had called for him to dance.

"Have pity on him, your grace" Davos pleaded. "He has served you well and does not deserve this humiliation."

"Davos tells it true my queen" spoke the King. "Let the man sit and drink."

Now Cressen spoke up, "Aye, your grace, a drink to the Lord of Light and his aid for our King! Would the Lady Melisandre join me in a toast?"

Davos whispered at the maester, "Don't do it old man, you won't see the dawn if you go through with this."

"It must be done Davos, to save his soul. She cannot continue to poison him, promise me I will not do this in vain."

The red woman spoke, "I shall join you, old fool, now have a boy bring me a glass."

"No need my lady," Cressen replied, "I'll bring it myself, even an old fool can do that." He shuffled over to her with two glasses, doing a little jig as he arrived before her, earning a titter from the Queen and a guffaw from Ser Axell Florent. He passed one of the goblets to the priestess, visibly shaking. Davos knew what was in the wine, yet there was nothing to be done. The two were about to drink when the Queen stood and called shrilly, "Allow me to join your toast, Maester, to the glory of our God!"

Melisandre obviously knew what Cressen was planning as well, as she blanched and said "Your grace, I do not think it wise to …"

"Nonsense!" Selyse declared and drank half of Melisandre's goblet before turning to them and saying "Will you not drink?"

"Aye, your grace, I shall", the red woman replied, bowing her head, and she and Cressen drained their cups.

There was a moment of silent tension between them as Cressen stared at the woman, before Selyse collapsed. Davos' son Allard was the first to reach her.

"She's dead your grace!" he exclaimed as Cressen too hit the floor. Stannis vaulted the table and ran to his maester, reaching him in time to catch his last word, "Treachery".

The King rose, his jaw set and face grim. "Take her," he said, "and lock her away, she has killed my wife and oldest advisor."

Davos smiled, "With pleasure, your grace", gesturing for the guards.

She ran towards Stannis, shouting "I did not your grace, it was the maester, the poison was for me!"

"I will have none of your lies priestess, you will meet your god on the dawn."

"No! The Lord of Light will cast you down, my king, do not condemn yourself!" She pushed through the guards and ran at Stannis. "You must give yourself to him fully my king – "

She was cut off mid-sentence by the sword that emerged from her chest. As she bled out and fell to the floor, Lord Celtigar stood over her, blood on his blade.

"Bitch," he snarled, "Let the Seven take her your grace"

Stannis glared at his bannerman. "Lord Celtigar, she was to be imprisoned."

"Aye your grace, and she would have been rescued by one of these fire god worshippers and escaped your justice. I did what needed done."

"So you did, but I'd prefer it if you didn't do it again, am I understood?"

"Yes, your grace."

The feast ended early, and as he left, Davos made a mental note to seek out Celtigar on the morrow, hoping that with the red woman gone, the two of them might be able to help the King see sense.

Stannis' war council met three days later. The King used a method of five councillors and himself gathered at the Painted Table. Of the last council meeting, only three members remained; Ser Davos, Lord Monford Velaryon (who was the primary financial impetus behind Stannis' claim, ad commanded the most ships) and Ser Axell Florent, the Castellan of Dragonstone. The places previously occupied by Melisandre and Maester Cressen were filled by Lord Ardrian Celtigar, at Davos' recommendation (their private meeting having gone extremely well), and Ser Imry Florent. Imry was a young, impulsive man, who had received his new position through Stannis' desire to keep what Florent support he had now that Selyse was dead. The King had shown little grief over his wife's death, but had, unusually spent the previous day with his daughter, Princess Shireen. The poor girl had never had a good relationship with her mother or father and in the last three days had seen more of the King than anyone else.

Davos was dragged from his thoughts by Stannis' cough. "My lords," he began, "let us begin. Firstly, I want the remnants of Melisandre's influence removed before the week is out. I will not give my enemies another reason to criticise me. Ser Axell, that will be your task." The hairy man nodded firmly, having lost his own faith in R'hllor following his neice's death.

"I need allies in this war, gentlemen. The question is where to find them. Any thoughts?"

Ser Imry spoke, "Your Grace, maybe peace with your brother would be profitable, he has the backing of Highgarden and the Stormlords."

"No. There will be no peace with Renly while he calls himself King."

"If it please your grace? Might I speak?"

"Of course, Lord Celtigar."

"It would be more prudent to seek out the Vale Lords; they have yet to declare for any of these other Kings."

"It's a funny trick you do my lord, you open your mouth and Davos' voice comes out. Yet you are right, Lysa's men must be sought. I will offer to foster her son here and betroth him to Shireen, however, I will also write Lord Royce and ask for his support, and Lady Waynwood and Lords Belmore and Redfort."

Davos spoke, "Your Grace, Lysa will never consent to send Robin away, it would be more successful to offer to send Shireen to her."

"Very well then. I will write her and her lords and will send a knight with her as a guardian. I will also send a man to Robb Stark and see if he has his father's honour."

"My King, send my youngest son with the Princess," offered Celtigar, "Andros is a good man, a solid swordsman, with a quick mind and a careful tongue."

"I was going to send Ser Imry, as he is her uncle, but now I feel he would be best suited as an envoy to the Northerners. Ser Andros it will be. Imry, you will carry my terms to Robb Stark."

"What are these terms, your grace?"

"That he will remain King in the North, but will swear fealty to myself and my heirs. In return I promise him justice for his father, and the bones of Lord Stark that they may be returned to Winterfell, once they are in my possession, also, a position on my small council for a representative of the North."

"Generous terms, your grace."

"Save me your simpering, it doesn't suit you, the terms are fair, not generous. You will sail to Maidenpool at first light and go from there to Riverrun, where I believe Stark is camped. Go and make your preparations."

"Of course, your grace," the young knight stood, looking a little shocked at his abrupt dismissal, but bowed and left without protest.

"Now, onto other matters," Stannis returned to the other four men, "I find myself in need of a Hand and commanders. We will sail within the fortnight, hopefully to meet our new allies in the Vale. Lord Celtigar, you have brought the most swords to my cause, so it seems fitting that you lead the vanguard. Lord Velaryon, you shall be my Master of Ships, Ser Axell, you will remain here as Castellan with the soldiers of your house. Davos, you will sail with us, under your new titles, Lord of the Rainwood and Hand of the King, though I shall have to see about a pin for you, Finally, I shall need a Kingsguard."

He had spoken as if these things were of no import, but to Davos, they were very important. A lordship, not claimed yet but in title, and Hand of the King? The knight was dragged from his thoughts by Lord Velaryon's voice.

"Your Grace, might I suggest Ser Triston Tally? He's the best sword of all your forces, and sworn to Lord Sunglass, also maybe consider Ser Lucas Rambston?"

"I will give it some thought, thank you for your wisdom my lords. Now leave me."

As Davos left, despite his mind spinning at his sudden elevation from minor landed knight to Lord and Hand, he could not help but notice that Stannis was once again staring at the Painted Table. However, Davos took some measure of happiness from the fact that the King's gaze had now turned towards the Vale and Riverlands rather than contemplating the red woman's suicidal attack on King's Landing.


	2. Chapter 2: Margaery

_Here's the next one, sorry it's a bit shorter than the first. Decided we should get a look at the other Baratheon brother, but wasn't keen on spending too much time with Catelyn. Hope you like. Again - I own nothing._

_**Chapter 2 – Margaery**_

She was Queen. All her father had wanted, and for a long time, all she had wanted. Despite this it felt, empty, somehow. She told herself that that was because she was only one of four queens, the others being Cersei Lannister and the wives of Stannis and Balon Greyjoy. She was Queen Margaery of House Tyrell, wife of King Renly Baratheon, First of His Name and she would be _the_ Queen. And Renly would sit the Iron Throne, how could he not? All the might of the Stormlands and the Reach was behind him, one hundred thousand men all told, they would see him there. Yet doubt tugged at her, she knew what Renly was, when she had come to him on the third night after their wedding he had broken down and told her. She knew that they would never be safe until she bore his child, so in order for that to happen, she would do anything. However, there was the issue of Loras.

She had known about her brother and Renly since a letter that Loras had written to her many years ago, when he had been Renly's squire, gods it was explicit, and she had never been able to think of Loras in the same way again, and had never fooled around with him again. She still loved him, but never like that again. She kept telling herself that all siblings did that to experiment, as the Lannisters had proved. She and Loras had never gone that far, and now she was glad.

So yes, despite all the rumours, she was a maiden, despite now being wed for two weeks, despite her husband's desperate need for an heir. She was beginning to get restless, many of her father's bannermen suspected as much, and she had heard their whispers. Luckily, Lady Stark had arrived in time to distract some of their attention. She sought an alliance between Renly and her son, Robb. He called himself King in the North, yet also had the support of the Riverlords. Renly had told her the offer he had made to Catelyn that Robb would remain King in the North, but would swear the same oath to Renly as his father had to Robert. Lady Stark's desperation to get her daughters back was obvious, and something that Margaery planned to play on.

When Lady Stark had returned to her son, Renly had ordered another week of tourneys and jousts. Why did he not march? Did he not see that his lords wanted to fight, not play? She had tried to tell him, tried to get Loras to tell him anyway, but the Knight of Flowers was in his element. Of the three of them, only Margaery saw the anger in Lord Florent's eyes at the announcement of further delays, only Margaery saw Randyll Tarly storm from the gathering of lords and knights, only Margaery saw the pity on Lord Estermont's face. Renly, though he had the largest army of all five kings, was losing the loyalty of his lords. The fury of Lord Tarly was most worrying, the finest soldier in the kingdoms, and commander of Renly's vanguard, yet Margaery feared he was close to marching his levies home. So she went to meet him.

"Lord Tarly," she said as she entered his tent, "The King did not notice your departure today, but I did."

"My apologies my Queen, yet I do not withdraw my action. We should be marching on King's Landing. Tywin Lannister is busy dealing with the Stark boy in the Riverlands, the only thing standing between the King and the Iron Throne is the City Watch, and they aren't fit to defend a wooden shack."

"I understand your grievances, my lord, and I agree. The King must march, and soon. Robb Stark is inexperienced and will not last long against the Lannisters, while Stannis hides on his island in the Narrow Sea. King's Landing is open, but not for long. You must petition him, I will arrange a war council."

"I will be there, your grace, but be gentle, Renly will not appreciate his wife planning his army's movements, nor will his lords."

It took two days to convince the King to call his council. His reluctance worried her, how would he rule if it took two days to call a meeting? Before her wedding she had had no doubts, but now? She and Renly rose as the lords entered. Alester Florent, Randyll Tarly, Mathis Rowan and Loras represented the Reach, while Eldon Estermont, Lester Morrigen and Bryce Caron were there from the Stormlords. This was a council for men, as Tarly had reminded her, so she took her leave, hoping that the King would be convinced.

Word reached her by nightfall that, after three hours of intense discussion, in which the Lords Estermont, Florent and Tarly threatened to take their men home, agreement was reached. The army would march up the roseroad in four days. That those lords had not abandoned them, she was glad, Lord Tarly would most likely return to Horn Hill, but the other two held family connections to Stannis, either through blood or marriage, and Margaery feared that they would turn to the elder Baratheon.

She went to him that night. She had to try again. As she reached his tent, Ser Guyard Morrigen "The Green" and Ser Robar Royce "The Red" of the Rainbow Guard would not allow her access. She didn't need to ask why, as she could hear the distinctive sound of their passion. She knew that Loras loved Renly, but did he not know that if Renly couldn't lie with her, then it would all be for naught? Then she realised; she and Loras had fooled around, Loras and Renly loved each other, and Renly needed and heir. Between the three of them, could that be achieved? Loras was her brother, and to many the idea would be abhorrent, but as long as it was Renly who got her pregnant and not Loras, where was the harm? Anyway, to be Queen she must give Renly a son, and she would do anything to be Queen.


	3. Chapter 3: Davos II

_The second in one day! Gods I must have no life. Anyway, we return to the Vale and Davos this time, with the appearance of character of whom we do not see enough. No battle action yet, but we'll get there I promise._

_**Chapter 3 – Davos**_

They had left Dragonstone four days past, having received replies to Stannis' ravens. Robb Stark wrote that he was currently in negotiations with Renly Baratheon for peace and allegiance, and claimed that it would dishonourable to treat with Stannis behind his brother's back. To this, Stannis had replied that Robb's father had supported his claim, not Renly's, and enclosed the letter that he had received from Ned Stark before he was murdered, complete with details of Joffrey's parentage and an explicit statement of his support for Stannis.

Lysa Arryn's response had been even more disheartening, Davos had struggled, with Shireen's help, through her letter and fully understood her meaning. The Vale would take no part in this war and its knights would remain to protect their lord. She also utterly rejected the proposal of a betrothal between Shireen and her son. It had hurt Davos to read the words out loud to the Princess, "I shall never consent to betroth my son to such an accursed, scarred and hideous monstrosity as your daughter." To her credit, Shireen had not flinched, continuing to chide Davos for his lax pronunciation, but never the less, it had hurt. Of the other Vale Lords, only Bronze Yohn Royce had replied, and his reply had been the one on which Stannis had ordered their sailing. The Lord of Runestone wrote;

"I hold the loyalty of 3,000 men and a further 1,500 from those sworn to me, more than twice your number, and Lady Lysa has instructed me to defend our coasts against you. However, I and several other lords believe that Lysa's commands are no longer driven by rational thought and that she is a danger to both her son and the Vale itself. To that end I request an audience with you to discuss terms. Should we come to a mutually beneficial conclusion, then we shall join you, if not you shall be repelled. I hope that you will consent to meet us at Runestone."

Faced with achieving no success at all and practically abandoning his attempts, Stannis had given the order to sail, and now they approached their landing point, barely ten miles from Runestone. By nightfall, they had landed and a camp had been established. There had been much discussion following the letters and plans had changed. Ser Imry Florent had taken a ship to Saltpans carrying Stannis' reply to Robb's letter, and Ser Axell had remained at Dragonstone with the 200 Florent men at his command, and two of the King' ships, with orders to hold on to it as long as he breathed. Having been summoned to a war council meeting, Davos approached the King's tent where Ser Triston Tally, of Stannis' newly formed Kingsguard, admitted him. The King was already mid-sentence when he entered.

"- a messenger to request that we meet two hours after dawn at the outcrop to the east, myself and a party of four, as his party will be of equal number."

"Does he say which Lords are with him, your grace?" Lord Velaryon asked.

"No, he does not, but his party is none of my concern, unless we reach an accord tomorrow, they are all traitors either way. I will be accompanied by Lord Davos, Lord Ardrian and Sers Triston and Lucas. Ser Andros will remain here to guard Shireen; I'm appointing him as her personal Kingsguard. Lord Velaryon, you will retain command here, in case we do not return, take Shireen back to Dragonstone and keep her safe. Should any pretender demand her, only Renly will keep her alive. You are tasked with my daughter's survival Monford, do not fail me."

"I won't your grace."

"Good. Gentlemen, we leave an hour after dawn."

The King was early, as usual. The party of five sat astride their horses twenty feet behind the riders bearing the banners of the men present; the black stag on gold of House Baratheon, the black ship and onion of Seaworth and the red crabs of Celtigar. The King, two lords and two Kingsguard watched the Valesmen approach from the distance, five riders followed by four banners; the black studs on bronze of Royce, the broken wheel of Waynwood, the arrows of Hunter and the bells of Belmore. As they grew closer, they could see the individual figures, in the centre, a huge man, as big as the infamous Sandor Clegane, with grey hair and beard and beside him an equally large man with black hair and beard, presumably his son, Ser Andar. The others were a small but fierce-looking elderly woman whom Davos knew must be Anya Waynwood, a middle-aged man in ornate armour and a fat old man on an equally aged horse, neither of whom Davos knew.

"My Lord Royce," Stannis called out, "I am here as you requested, name your terms."

"My Lord Stannis, I feel we should observe the pleasantries first, such as these unknown faces which accompany you," the huge man replied, a twinkle in his slate-grey eyes.

"Very well then," Stannis replied calmly, "These are knights of my Kingsguard, Ser Triston Tally of Tally Hill and Ser Lucas Rambston of Rambston. This is Lord Ardrian Celtigar of Claw Isle, the commander of my vanguard, and finally my Hand Lord Davos Seaworth of the Rainwood."

"A pleasure to meet you again, Onion Knight," the lord replied.

"Davos is a Lord," the King responded.

"Of course, my apologies, Lord Davos. Anyhow, my companions are my son, Ser Andar, Lady Anya Waynwood, Lord Horton Redfort and Ser Gilwood Hunter, heir to Longbow Hall. Now to terms. First, in exchange for my support, I want a full pardon for my son Ser Robar, who rides with Lord Renly in his Rainbow Guard."

"Done."

"Second, without any offense meant to Lord Celtigar, I want command of the vanguard."

"I have no objection to this, your grace." Celtigar spoke up.

King Stannis returned his gaze to Royce, "Also done."

"That marks the end of my personal terms, as for the Vale as a whole, Lady Waynwood will speak for us."

Lady Waynwood, a stern-looking woman, spoke next.

"We want Lysa Arryn removed from Protectorship of the Vale, and rule of the Vale to pass to a Lord elected by the others."

"How do you propose to remove Lysa, and what will you do with her afterwards?"

"That will be for the Lord Protector to decide, but she will not be executed."

"These terms are fair. I agree, on the condition that there will be no betrothal between Robert Arryn and my daughter once he is under your care. How many men have you gathered here?"

Ser Andar replied, reading from a letter, "Two-thirds of the might of the Vale. Both branches of House Royce and Houses Waynwood, Coldwater, Tollett, Redfort, Shett, Hardyng, Hunter, Belmore, Grafton, Lynderly and Moore. Twenty thousand men all told."

"A mighty force indeed, we shall march on the morrow my lords. Could a representative from each major house come to my camp for a council by nightfall? Excellent, then we are done here. Goodbye my lords, I look forward to our next meeting."

With that, Stannis turned his horse and began to ride off. As they followed, Celtigar leaned over to Davos and said, "That went rather well."

The smuggler replied, "Too easy for my liking. We shall see what price we have paid when we reach the Eyrie." 

That night, Stannis gathered all his Lords to his command tent to await the arrival of the Vale Lords. When they arrived, the tension in the tent rose noticeably. Bronze Yohn Royce, Lady Waynwood's son Ser Morton, Ser Jasper Redfort, Ser Gilwood Hunter and Lord Benedar Belmore stepped inside. Stannis began before they could talk amongst themselves, his face as grim as ever.

"My lords, I promised the removal of Lysa, so I will deliver. You say she has the rest of the Valesmen gathered at the Gates of the Moon, where your cousin Lord Nestor rules, I believe Lord Yohn."

"Indeed your grace," the big man replied, his bulk filling the tent, "Nestor commands the ten thousand we left behind. He was given the Gates and his family made hereditary lords by Lysa. He will let us pass, it will need to be a smaller party of delegates, as Lysa will not allow an army past the gate."

"I expected as much. In that case, it will be a party that can fight, in case things turn sour. I will take two of my Kingsguard and Lords Seaworth and Celtigar, I would like each of you to accompany us, and Ser Andar Royce."

The discussion continued late into the night, with the King only dismissing them until every last detail had been planned. The Valesmen would lead the column with Lord Royce commanding the vanguard. Lord Celtigar had been given the rearguard, and Lord Velaryon would hold command of the forces once the other lords ascended to the Eyrie. Lord Monford's bastard brother, Aurane Waters, would command the ships that remained, and build a supply base at their landing point. 

As twenty-two thousand men, broke camp the next morning and began their march, Davos wondered if they would all die at the hands of Lysa's guards, before deciding not to consider that particular eventuality. Despite his doubts, as he rode beside Princess Shireen, whom Stannis had insisted accompany them and learn about ruling, Davos could not help but think that Stannis would sit the Iron Throne, a while nowhere near a certain outcome, he was hopeful. He was made more optimistic by listening to Stannis talking to daughter and explaining the houses of the Vale and why he did what he did. Davos was not a betting man, but he would have put substantial money on the hunch that Stannis was wearing a rare smile. He hoped for Shireen's sake that was so, she had been raised on a grim island with grim parents and no other children, smiles were all too scarce in her life.


	4. Chapter 4: Kevan

_Here's the next one. I'm going away tomorrow for a week so there won't be anything for a while. For this chapter i decided to use a POV character that I really liked and wish we saw more of before - well that's a spoiler. Anyway, I feel some clarification is needed on the ages of certain characters._

_Robb Stark - 18, Sansa Stark - 15, Arya Stark - 14, Bran Stark - 12, Rickon Stark - 11  
_

_Joffrey - 17, Myrcella - 14, Tommen - 12, Shireen - 13, Sweetrobin Arryn - 10_

_I think that's all of them. Enjoy!_

_**Chapter 4 – Kevan**_

Kevan was tired, very tired. He was also jealous, jealous of his elder brother's unyielding drive and apparent lack of need for sleep. Tywin had always been better than him, something Kevan had quite quickly come to realise in his youth, resolving to be his brother's most trusted lieutenant and serve him better than any other. While he had accepted Tywin's superiority relatively easily, it had been harder for Tygett and Gerion. Tygett, always the warrior, chafed against his eldest brother's success all his life, until a fever took him almost overnight. Gerion was driven to sail the Free Cities seeking the lost valyrian steel blade of House Lannister that he might equal his brother and prove himself, an errand that in time cost him his life. Tywin never saw what his success did to his brothers, viewing their attempts at fame as fool's errands and time-wasting, bringing further shame upon their House. Kevan was the only one with whom he was satisfied, more so even than his own children. Except for Jaime, well Jaime was Tygett all over again, though Tywin refused to see it, hoping he would become his father's son. Jaime was a remarkable swordsman, yet arrogant. Cersei was filled with malevolence and a desire for power, yet knew not how to use it, even from the distance Kevan had tried to keep between himself and his niece that was obvious. Tyrion was truly Tywin's son, but Lord Lannister was blinded by hatred at the loss of Joanna.

Kevan had been there when Tywin was told about the boy and Joanna. He had looked at Tyrion briefly, before snorting and turning to his dead wife. He remained at the bedside, ignoring the squalling babe for a whole day. Had Kevan not taken the babe to a nursemaid personally, he suspected that Tywin would have let the boy die. It had still been a close-run thing. Cersei was cruel to the boy too, twisting his parts until he screamed and tormenting him. Once, Kevan had caught her and admonished her, but had caught her doing it again the next day. He was only glad that once he was old enough, Jaime began to stand up for his dwarf brother, even defending him from Cersei, despite the deep connection the two had.

That was the other thing that Kevan kept from Tywin; he knew. Nobody knew that he knew, except Genna, but _he knew._ He knew about Cersei's children, he had known since Tommen had arrived in the world. With the Baratheon predilection for black hair being manifested in not one of the three children, combined with Cersei's demand to see Jaime before her husband had confirmed it for him. He dared not tell his brother for fear of what it would do to him. He had told his sister Genna and she had sighed before agreeing never to tell Tywin.

Well, now their sin was returning bite them. They were embroiled in war and surrounded on all sides; Renly to the South, Stannis to the East, Balon Greyjoy to the West and the Stark boy to the North. With five of Westeros' regions and those Crownlanders sworn to Dragonstone ranged against them, and two more regions refusing to support them, the Lannisters were not in a good position. However, Tywin was never one to give up, not when his legacy was at stake. Kevan had been with his brother in his solar the night before when Tywin had announced his plan.

"Tomorrow we ride for Harrenhal, while Gregor Clegane and Amory Lorch lead raiding parties to set the Riverlands aflame. If Robb Stark makes common cause with any of the others, our problem will intensify. To that end I am sending Tyrion to King's Landing to act as Hand of the King. He will curb Joffrey's excesses and bring Cersei to heel, as well as preparing the city for a siege. He will have all authority required and orders to root out treason from the court."

"I'm sure Tyrion will prove himself in that role, he has a sharp mind."

"If only he didn't team it with a propensity for drink and whores."

"Well, quite."

"Jaime is still the Stark boy's captive, I shall send a ransom offer with Ser Tion Frey. I shall also include an offer for your boys."

"Thank you. Dorna never wanted them to come, but I insisted they see battle. She'll be glad to have them home."

"I have also received word that Stannis has left Dragonstone, sailing north. His only target can be the Vale, everywhere else is against him. I doubt he'll seek out Lysa, the world knows she hates him."

"It must be the Royce's then. Bronze Yohn's a stickler for a fight and he was Lord Eddard's friend from the Rebellion. He won't have been happy at the execution and Lysa's decision not to fight. Plus, between Yohn and Nestor, they are second most powerful force in the Vale, and others will surely follow their lead."

"My thought's exactly. To that end, I have alreadysent Ser Flement Brax to the Eyrie, to entreat Lysa and encourage her to keep her bannermen under control. In addition, you will take one thousand men to King's Landing, and from there you will sail to, and capture, Dragonstone."

"My lord, my place is here, at your side. Surely Ser Addam or Ser Lyle could –"

"No. I trust no-one else with this. Especially seeing as once that is done you will return to the capital, keep an eye on Tyrion and take up a seat on the small council, as temporary Regent. Also, upon your arrival, you will take Tommen as your squire."

"Tywin, as your brother I must protest, Cersei is –"

"Out of control. As is her boy, you will bring them to heel. I need you Kevan, more so now than ever before. Do not fail me."

"No my lord, I won't. But Tommen is so young, and you said that Tyrion was to control Cersei."

"The Prince is twelve. Old enough to be a squire, especially to his great-uncle, and Tyrion is merely your placeholder. Both Ser Lyle and Ser Addam will ride with you, and you will head out with Tyrion's company at dawn. Tell no-one of what you are to do following the assault on Dragonstone. Here is your authority, both to command my soldiers and to return to King's Landing as Regent. Get Cersei off the small council if you must, but she does not leave the capital, her days of malicious blundering are over. Serve me well in this, and I will give you Dragonstone. When we're done, Stannis certainly won't need it. You are dismissed brother."

Kevan took his leave, dreading what the morning would bring. He had set out to be Tywin's right hand, but he had never expected something as large as this. Still, as his wife had said many times, these things are sent to try us, and try Kevan would.

They rode out at dawn, with Tyrion's company slightly behind. He had managed to persuade his father to delay their allotted departure time to give Kevan enough time to get his men on the road, the indolent boy. Though Kevan had great respect for Tyrion's keen intellect, he did not respect his childish lack of drive when doing what he didn't want to. Kevan himself had been up well before dawn, having spent the early hours preparing supplies and other logistical nightmares. He now rode down the Kingsroad beside Ser Ronan Peckledon, a close friend from their days as squires to Lord Banefort's sons.

He had planned his moves well in advance, planning to spy out the situation in King's Landing before taking Tommen with him to Dragonstone. The boy was rather attached to his mother, but he was sure that a campaign would be the making of him. The trick would be to pry him from Cersei. It all came back to her. He had to clean up her mess, and then remove her from power. She would not go easily, this he knew, but beyond that he had no idea what he might find.


	5. Chapter 5: Theon

OK - Sorry this ones a short one. Just felt I had to give a bit of background to what else was happening concerning the Northerners - and as Im trying to avoid angsty Catelyn, that left me with Theon, who I really do not like. As I've been away, another one will be going up soon, tonight I hope. Enjoy

_**Chapter 5 – Theon**_

They had been at Riverrun for three days now, waiting, though he did not know what for. Three days which could have been better spent marching against the Lannisters. Theon had fought against Stafford Lannister's forces, and though he would not admit it, it was the best few hours of his life. He had loved it, the blood, the smell of fear on the enemy, everything, he had exulted in it. Robb would not understand, but he was of the North, whereas Theon was Ironborn, bred to raid and kill, he was in his element.

"My Lord Greyjoy!" a man in Stark colours approached him, "King Robb has called you before his council."

Ten minutes later, Theon stood in the command tent with Robb and Lords Bolton, Karstark and Umber. Also in the tent was a nervous-looking knight bearing the colours of House Florent.

"You came bringing proposals of alliance, Ser Imry, yet now I learn that Lord Stannis has laid siege lines around the Eyrie, where my aunt rules in my cousin's stead. How does he expect my assistance now?"

"My apologies, Lord Stark, but as of my departure from King Stannis, he had no plans to besiege the Eyrie and in fact I –"

"You are addressing a King!" the Greatjon bellowed, "and you should give him the honour he deserves."

The Florent quailed at the big man's fury before answering, "My apologies again, your grace but I knew nothing of this attack, and as I said, I was not told of any plan against the Eyrie."

"I see you are telling the truth Ser Imry, that much is clear. Now hear my terms. You will take them to your King and then bring a reply. Lord Bolton, the terms."

When the quiet, pale man spoke it was barely a whisper, "As of this day, the North is its own Kingdom, independent from the Iron Throne, any violation of this will result in war between us. Each side will swear an alliance to the other – not fealty. We claim as our borders the traditional boundaries of the Riverlands and the North, sworn to the King in the North, not the King on the Iron Throne. In addition, the Princesses Sansa and Arya Stark will be returned to King Robb from King's Landing alive. The siege of the Eyrie will be abandoned immediately, and Stannis will march his army to the Riverlands, that we may defeat the Lannister forces together. Finally, this alliance will be sealed in matrimony, specifically, a marriage between Prince Brandon Stark and Princess Shireen Baratheon."

"I will convey your terms, but I tell you that King Stannis will not find them fair."

"Those are the terms. Carry them. You ride at dawn Ser Imry. Now leave."

As Imry left, Robb turned to his commanders, "Well then, it appears that Stannis is a player in the game now. I doubt he will agree to our terms, so we must seek out other allies. My mother has not returned from Renly's camp, so I know not how negotiations proceed on that front."

"Your grace," Theon interrupted, "Send me to my father on the Iron Islands. If you agree to aid him in claiming his independence, he will return your support."

Now Lord Karstark spoke, "Balon Greyjoy is a traitorous squid; he won't give us anything without taking more than he was promised, and then he'll betray us for a bit more."

Before an argument could erupt, Robb spoke, "Theon, you are my oldest friend, I trust you with this. Go; promise him our co-operation in our mutual independence, whatever he says, return. I need you here."

It was at this point that Lord Tytos Blackwood entered the chamber, "My King, Ser Tion Frey is here, says he has a ransom offer for your prisoners."

"Send him in."

The man who entered bore a striking resemblance to a weasel, " Lord Stark," he said, inclining his head only slightly, "Or should I call you my cousin-in-law?"

"You will call me nothing but Your Grace, Frey. Now tell me, why has your father turned against his and supported the bastard Joffrey?"

"He saw no reason to support treason, your grace," the words were laden with malice and venom, "Yet to business, Lord Tywin sent me with ransom offers for your captives; Sansa in exchange for Ser Jaime, Willem and Martyn."

"Lord Tywin knows this is unacceptable, he would have me trade two valuable hostages and the Kingslayer for a girl?"

"For your sister, and for your mother."

"What did you say?"

"I said that Lord Tywin also offers you your mother in exchange. She was taken riding back to Riverrun from Renly Baratheon's camp, she is now with his forces."

"Leave Ser Tion, I will consider your terms."

As soon as the weasel left, Lord Karstark spoke, "You cannot mean to accept your grace? The Kingslayer killed my boy, I want my vengeance."

"I cannot bring Torrhen back Lord Karstark, but I could save my sisters."

Lord Bolton spoke next, "Excuse me your grace, but did you not notice he offered Sansa, and not Arya? Either he wants to keep her as a bargaining tool or –"

"He doesn't have her. My lords, leave me, this is enough for one night, I must think."

As the lords left, Theon went to his tent. He was going home, finally going home. He would receive a hero's welcome at his return to Pyke, this he knew. When he brought his father ships to Robb's aid, then he would truly be called lord, not just as a courtesy, and he and Robb would fight together and win. One day he would be King himself. He was giddy with the thought.


	6. Chapter 6: Margaery II

_NOTE - The second one today! I could claim I having been striving at it all day, but this one was written just after the last Margaery chapter about two weeks ago. In this chapter, Renly has some issues, and though it's really a filler-chapter, there's some important stuff here, and important people - WATCH THIS SPACE!_

Thanks to all those who follow, favourite and review - particularly 'Lord of Carrion' - who reviews each chapter almost as soon as I post it and seems to be doing his best to second guess me!

Just as an aside - I OWN NOTHING - etc.

_**Chapter 6 – Margaery**_

She had done it. Renly's army was on the march and, more importantly, she had persuaded Loras to co-operate in her scheme. It was all planned. As the army made camp, Loras would be guarding Renly's tent and she would make her entrance, and once again beg Renly to take her. When he refused, Loras would enter and well, the situation would look after itself. She knew she must be careful though, only Renly could enter her, or they would be no better than the Lannister twins. Though she was a fairly broad-minded young woman, she dare not expose herself to the ridicule and whispers that would follow.

The Tyrell knight they had sent with Lady Stark had returned the night before, bearing the news that they had been ambushed by Ser Amory Lorch, and Lady Catelyn had been taken to Tywin Lannister's encampment at Harrenhal. The prospect of Tywin learning of the planned alliance and acting against him had spurred Renly into action, declaring a forced march to King's Landing. However, Renly was not prepared to actually force the pace for very long, calling a halt to the column after only two days. Each of his lords bannermen had been delighted with the prospect of finally making a decisive move, yet now they were furious. Margaery had heard that Renly had been shouted down in his own tent by Lord Florent, who had then stormed out. The next day, he had left; along with the four thousand men he had brought to Renly's cause.

Lord Florent's abandonment of the army had incensed Loras, who had requested leave to take ten thousand men and bring him back, or kill him. Renly had refused, believing that he could not begin his reign by slaughtering those who refused to fight alongside him, hoping a victory would bring the Florents back. This, if anything had made things worse. By the end of that day, the Estermonts and Hightowers had also threatened to leave. Of these, the Hightower's departure would be the most disastrous, as they had brought the disciplined troops of Oldtown and three other sworn houses to Renly's cause, a total of sixteen thousand fighting men, nearly a fifth of Renly's army. It was to prevent this that she again went to the King, to petition him to attack now, before they lost everything.

"Your Grace, we must move on King's Landing."

"Why the rush, my queen? No other can match my numbers, I can take my time."

"That would be most unwise, my King. Ser Baelor Brightsmile threatened to take the Hightower men home today, and abandon you, as did Lord Eldon, your own uncle."

"So what? That still leaves me over eighty-thousand men, more than enough to get the job done."

"Your Grace, if your own family abandon you, how will it look? If the second-most powerful family in the Reach abandon you, how long will it take for others to follow their lead?"

"They are sworn to follow me."

"It didn't stop Alester Florent, and it won't stop the others."

"I will not be spoken to like this on this matter, what do women know of war?" As he said this he turned his back, effectively dismissing her.

"Very well, my King. I admit my knowledge of war all comes from what Loras has told me." She began to undress; taking advantage of Renly's turned back. She continued as she moved, "Speaking of Loras, I've sent for him, I know you like to end the day together."

As she spoke, Loras entered, and, turning the King around, planted a kiss on his lips, before saying, "Your grace, this must be done, you need this, let us help you."

As the Tyrell siblings advanced on him, Renly started to protest, before giving in and falling back onto his bed. Margaery knew now that she had him, she would give him an heir. Despite his protestations soon Renly was moaning to the siblings' ministrations.

When Margaery rode next to her King the next day they were once again on the move and she had never felt so unstoppable; Renly's child was growing within her, and he was marching towards King's Landing. However, she also knew how precarious their position was, with almost a quarter of the army on the verge of giving up on him and marching home. Should the Lannisters learn that the situation was so delicately balanced, then they would surely exploit that knowledge. Margaery knew that Tywin was no fool, and planned not to appear one herself, and to that aim, Renly must sit the Iron Throne.

As they made camp that night, the mood amongst the men was sour. It had rained since before noon, making progress slower than normal and sapping at their morale. It had been worsened when Renly had retired to a carriage rather than suffering as his men did. He knew not how a King should behave, he saw none of the leadership or responsibility, only the benefits it would bring him. He made the decision that night to postpone the march due to the inclement weather. The next day, Lord Estermont took his men home.

Margaery knew that the army could not hold together unless something drastic turned the tide. That drastic something arrived two days later.

"Stannis has besieged the Eyrie. He has most of the Vale behind him."

She smiled at the man with whom she now shared a bed, "You have the Reach and the Stormlands."

"For how long? They abandon me like flies. Baelor Hightower came to me today and told me he intends to take his men home tomorrow."

"They will follow as long as required, my king." She still smiled, as he now seemed to understand. Amazed that it had taken so long, but glad that it had, she silently thanked Stannis for his actions.

"I know what I must do."

"And what is that my love?"

"March on King's Landing. At dawn."

"Are you sure?"

"Yes. It must be done. From there I can deal with the Lannisters from a position of power. I will keep Cersei and her children alive to ensure Tywin's allegiance, and then, when all else is done, I will destroy him for what he did, to the Targaryen's, to Robert, to everyone."

She looked at him once, smiled, and lay back on the bed, "Should I send for Loras?"

"No, I only need you tonight." With that, Renly leaned in over her.


	7. Chapter 7: Davos III

_NOTE-Found this one saved on the document of previous chapter on my computer - so you're getting a bonus one! Developments in the Vale this time, as I said this fanfic would be Stannis-centred and we've had three chapters since we last heard from him. Again - enjoy. Review, follow, favourite etc - any constructive criticism welcome - though it would be appreciated if it could be kept clean._

_**Chapter 7 – Davos**_

Davos was amazed, yet hopeful. They had reached the Gates of the Moon five days ago. Upon their arrival, Lord Nestor Royce had, speaking with the approval of the other lords gathered there, declared his forces for Stannis. The Vale was now united behind the true king, but would not march until all he had promised with regard to Lady Lysa had been accomplished. To that end they had laid siege to the Eyrie since then, with Lysa refusing to see them, until now.

The Vale Lords had voted, and placed the rule of their land in the hands of the Royces. Lord Yohn would command their troops that marched to war, while Lord Nestor would take the role of Lord Protector of the Vale and Guardian of Lord Robert Arryn. When Lysa finally agreed to meet the king, she insisted upon them coming to her, guaranteeing safe conduct. Not believing her, Stannis had ordered those who accompanied him to be heavily armed yet lightly armoured, as speed would be essential if they were to be successful. The party consisted of the King, Davos, Lords Yohn and Nestor Royce, Lord Celtigar, Sers Triston Tally and Lucas Rambston of the Kingsguard and Sers Andar and Albar Royce (sons of Yohn and Nestor respectively), Ser Merton Waynwood, Ser Jasper Redfort and Ser Gilwood Hunter. The twelve men ascended slowly, having left orders with Lord Velaryon to attack the Eyrie should they not return by dawn the next day.

When they finally reached the doors to the Eyrie's Great Hall, the guard captain, a knight who introduced himself as Ser Edmund Waxley, requested that they leave their weapons outside. In response, Stannis had told him that, if they gave over their weapons to him, then the man would be declared traitor once Lady Arryn signed the treaty he had brought with him and gave him her support. The man, young and inexperienced, had blanched, obviously not aware that the "treaty" Stannis spoke of was fabricated, and let them in.

The Hall was immense, with the carved wooden throne of the Arryns at one end, and between it and the great doors, the Moon Door. Davos had heard stories of the Moon Door, and had hoped never to see it, even closed. Now however, it was wide open, and Lady Arryn stood before it, cradling her son before her. Davos could feel Stannis' simmering contempt for the woman, and also the boy, who, at his age, still drank at his mother's breast.

"How dare you? You come armed into my halls? I suppose you think to threaten me. I tell you now that you will have no success. These Vale Lords who stand beside you are all loyal to me, to my son."

"To your son, aye. To you, no." Davos replied, "They have declared your rule at an end, and supported King Stannis."

"Who are you to even speak in my presence smuggler? Yes, I know who you are, Davos Seaworth, and may the Seven smite you for your insolence, to pretend that your crimes have been washed away."

The boy interjected, "No-one can hurt us here mummy, tell him!"

"Lord Davos is the King's Hand, Lady Arryn. Now here are my terms, you will resign your rule of the Vale, handing over control to Lord Protector Nestor Royce. Your son will also be passed to his protection. You will accompany my army on the march to the Riverlands, where you will be ransomed to your family in exchange for their allegiance." Stannis waded into the confrontation, hoping to keep the peace.

"I will not. This castle is impregnable, we are safe here, my boy is safe. Your war cannot reach him here."

The Lordling began to cry.

"The war is here Lysa," Bronze Yohn spoke loudly over Robert's sobs, "It is here, and we must help. Your nephew is fighting the Lannisters alone, he needs your help. What are the Tully words? Your words? Famil, Duty, Honour - we should have ridden to his aid when we first heard of Lord Eddard's death, instead of hiding behind our mountains like frightened sheep!"

"Family, Duty, Honour, those are what you speak of, my Lord Royce? I am honouring my duty to my family by protecting my son. There is nothing I wouldn't do for him, nothing, do you hear me? I would kill for him."

"I suspect you already have, haven't you?" Davos said quietly, beginning to realise how insane this woman truly was.

"He promised he would come if I did it," she seemed to shrink at Davos' words, as if she had run out of steam, and fell to her knees, visibly crying, "I killed my husband for him, for my boy, why didn't he come?"

the woman had changed in a instance, inexplicably, she seemed to weaken before him.

"Mummy, why are you crying, they can't hurt us. Can I make the bad men fly?" the Lord of the Eyrie wailed.

Davos moved towards her, "My Lady, come with us, we can help you find him, help your son. What is this mans name?" He felt awful for lying to her but knew that this had the potential to become a fatal situation should her fragile mind decide she was threatened.

"NO! I know what you want of me, you and your false King! He loves me, and you would have me betray him! I tell you, you will have nothing from me." She began to step backwards, vigour restored, towards the gaping door, dragging Robert with her.

Stannis tried again, "Lysa, your boy is in no danger; he will be instructed in ruling and take up his position when he comes of age."

"I know what you mean for him. You would wed him to your mutated spawn of a daughter and claim the Vale through her, he would spend his life having to bed that disgusting wench, and I will not stand for it."

Others tried now, as she approached the edge, the King's other companions stepping forward and appealing to her, even Ser Edmund of the guard.

"ENOUGH!" she screeched. In the ensuing silence, she could be heard whispering, "I'll keep you safe my sweet boy, my Sweetrobin." Then she jumped, still clinging to her sickly son.

"Seven hells!" Stannis cried, running to the edge, before his Kingsguard pulled him back.

As the group looked from one to the other, Ser Jasper Redfort was the first to speak, "What now?" 

The Arryn guardsmen had obviously not been fond of Lysa, as following her suicide, they capitulated, passing the Eyrie to Stannis. Each of the houses of the Vale reaffirmed their allegiance to Stannis in a ceremony in which Lord Nestor Royce was named Protector of the Vale until the new Lord, Harrold Hardyng, came of age. Harrold had arrived at the Eyrie as part of the King's army, as he had been Lady Waynwood's ward. Stannis had spent the best part of two hours in a chamber with the young squire, and it emerged that he was to take the name Arryn to avoid confusion and ensure contingency. Lord Harry, as he preferred to be called, also agreed to remain in the Vale and hold it for Stannis, while Bronze Yohn led his troops to war. Stannis also mentioned to Davos that he had promised the young man a suitable wife, and that he also had one in mind. The Hand of the King hoped that Shireen would not be offered to another Lord Arryn, she deserved better than a match made for convenience.

Ser Imry Florent returned later that day, bearing the terms Robb Stark had sent.

"We cannot accept these terms, Imry," Stannis told him.

"Why not your grace? We need the men, and the North."

"We cannot accept as five hours ago, Lysa Arryn threw herself and her son out of the Moon Door. Not to mention he speaks to me as if he were MY king, not the other way around."

Davos sighed, "Then the North is lost to us. Robb will never bend the knee now."

"But you said Lysa killed herself, your grace? Surely he will know that you didn't kill her." the knight continued asking the King, ignoring Davos as he always had.

Unfazed, the Onion Knight continued, "She did kill herself, but only we know that, and do you think Robb Stark will believe that she killed herself when the only ones present were those who firstly, were besieging her home, and secondly, want an alliance with him which would be ruined by her murder? Especially when her death has made our control of the Vale that much easier?"

"Ah," Imry sighed.

"The North is lost to us," Stannis continued, "We must consider our options. The latest reports place Renly's forces on the Roseroad advancing slowly towards King's Landing, Robb Stark at Riverrun and Tywin Lannister camped at the Green Fork."

"That is no longer the case your grace," Lord Celtigar spoke, " We found Ser Flement of House Brax a prisoner in a sky cell, says he arrived here a day before we did, and that Tywin Lannister has moved to Harrenhal."

"Ah, the mighty Tywin is withdrawing? Only to regroup most likely. See that Ser Flement is well-housed and fed, he will be a valuable hostage."

"Other news, your grace, from the Iron Islands," Davos stood to address Stannis, "Balon Greyjoy has again declared himself King of the Iron Islands, and is gathering his ships for war. There is also talk of an alliance between him and Robb Stark."

"Another traitor, he will die like the others. Anything more my lords, before we plan our next move?"

"Aye your grace, one item more," the voice came from the back of the assembled men, who parted to allow the speaker through, it was Ser Jasper Redfort, accompanied by Ser Harlan Hunter. "We request the honour of places in your Kingsguard, we can prove our skill in combat if it is required."

"I appreciate your loyalty Sers, allow me to consider your request."

"Of course, your grace."

As the two knights returned to their places at the rear of the assembly, Stannis continued.

"We must strike quickly. The Lannisters are the real problem; Lord Tywin has 45,000 men at Harrenhal, and maybe 10,000 at King's Landing, at the highest estimate. Our target is clear, we march on the capital, when I sit the Iron Throne I will truly be King. Prepare to march my lords."

As the gathered nobles left, Davos approached the King, "Your Grace, I wondered if we might discuss a matter which troubles me?"

"Speak your mind Lord Davos, you will only have the truth from me," the King was obviously tired, having become even more curt than usual, his teeth beginning to grind.

"You mentioned a strategic marriage for Lord Harrold, you cannot mean Shireen? She is not meant for this place, she needs warmth and to be cherished, she is so fragile and the Vale is secure, you do not need to bind them to you further."

"Rest easy Davos, I did not mean Shireen, I have no plan to marry her off yet. Selyse kept my daughter from me all these years; I will not give away my heir just yet."

"Then to whom will you wed Harrold Arryn?"

"Did you listen to Robb Stark's terms, Davos? He wants his sisters returned when we take King's Landing."

"Meaning, your Grace?"

"Meaning that there are two Stark girls in the capital, one of whom is of an age with young Lord Arryn."

"You mean –"

"Yes Davos, when we take King's Landing, I will give Harrold Arryn a wife befitting his new station, Sansa Stark."


	8. Chapter 8: Kevan II

_NOTE – Got a bit carried away with this one. I have found that I really enjoy writing Kevan chapters, he's a great character who we see so little of in GRRM's writing. I tried to portray as he was described by Varys – "A good man in service to an evil cause" (I think that's the quote – not exactly sure, I've lent my copy of ADWD to a friend), I also tried tonvey him as Tywin's strong right hand but always in his brother's shadow – hence his new independence, wanted him to have his moment in the sun. Anyway, enjoy!_

_**Chapter 8 – Kevan**_

He had to leave King's Landing the next day,and he was glad of that. Kevan stood aboard what would serve as his flagship; _King Robert's Hammer_ and looked out over the port as his soldiers and sailors prepared to depart. He had not wanted to come, but now he was loathe to leave, with Renly's army approaching; granted it was approaching very slowly, but it was approaching, and it worried him. He spent a lot of time worrying. Renly was the reason that he was only taking one thousand of the Lannister men in the capital with him to Dragonstone, giving him two thousand in total, not as many as he'd have liked. The voyage would take two days, the siege he did not know how long, but with the fortress' reputation he doubted he had enough men. He had Cersei to thank for that, for she had not been pleased when he and Tyrion had arrived in the midst of a Small Council meeting.

The doors had swung open as the two men entered.

"What is the meaning of this?" she had demanded.

"My dear sister!" Tyrion had exclaimed, the two of them having agreed to let him do the talking, "We are sent by your lord father to ensure the successful ruling of these Seven Kingdoms."

"The kingdoms are being successfully run."

"Really? Has the rebellion of seven of Westeros' nine regions escaped your notice? What about the army of nearly one hundred thousand men almost on your doorstep?"

"They will break upon our walls."

"Father disagrees. He has sent me here to act as Hand of the King in his absence and secure the city while our uncle Kevan is to take men to capture Dragonstone now Stannis has gone to the Vale."

"You lie."

Kevan had produced the orders sealed with the Lion of Lannister. Once Cersei had read them, she stood abruptly and shouted "Leave us!"

As Pycelle, Varys, Slynt and Littlefinger scrambled to depart, Kevan and Tyrion seated themselves on either side of the Queen Regent.

"Why has he sent you, you odious imp? And you, uncle, who have spent your life bowing and scraping, why the sudden impulse for power?"

"I am your uncle, and serving the King just as you are, remember that Cersei." He hated dealing with her, her arrogance and condescension to him never failed to rile him.

"I don't care if you are the Warrior reborn; you are not taking my boy to war."

"Tommen won't be in danger; he will be nowhere near the front line assault."

"What about arrows? He doesn't need to be in the front line for those, you cannot have him."

"I've already spoken to him, he wants to come and see a real battle, and your father has commanded it." Not strictly true, but she didn't need to know that.

Apparently giving up on him, she had turned on Tyrion. Kevan sighed, the woman was impossible. True, he had not yet spoken to the Prince, but he knew that he would agree, he was an excitable boy, by far Kevan's favourite of Cersei's children. He missed most of Cersei and Tyrion's conversation as he considered the situation, being jerked back to reality by her voice.

"Fine, do it, but remember, both of you are serving me, the Queen Regent, not the King, not my father, me."

The two stood and bowed, sharing a knowing glance as they strode out.

While Tyrion had gone to examine his new chambers, Kevan had sought out the Prince, and found him with Joffrey and Myrcella. He entered, and the two younger children ran and hugged him, while the new King looked on with disgust.

"Leave him alone you stupid children; Ser Kevan has obviously come to speak with his King."

"Not in this case, your grace," he had replied curtly, having even less time for Joffrey than Cersei, the boy being a yet more extreme version of his mother, but somehow more unwholesome. Kevan added, "I am your great-uncle, and whether you are King or not, you will show respect to your elders."

"I am the King. You do not tell me to do anything."

"I am your great-uncle, who has your best interests in mind, so I will tell you and you will listen, especially given that I'm about to leave to capture Dragonstone for you."

The boy's eyes lit up, "Bring me back Stannis' traitor head! I want to show it to Sansa."

"No I will not. For two reasons, firstly because Stannis is no longer at Dragonstone, surely you were told of his move to the Vale by the Small Council?"

"I have more important things to do with my time than count coppers, but what was the second reason?"

"You will stop torturing that girl. If she is to be your wife you will do right by her, as is expected of you."

"Her father was a traitor, her brother is a traitor. She deserves no better."

"Has she betrayed you? Listen, boy, if you want to survive as King you had better realise that only good rulers last very long, the ones who are mad or cruel tend to get murdered." For a moment Joffrey's face grew dark, and Kevan worried that he had overstepped the mark, but then Tommen spoke,

"Are you going to war, Uncle Kevan?"

He turned to the young prince, noting that Joffrey had turned his back to them now, and said, "Yes I am. I need a squire though; do you know any lads who might want the job?"

"I can do it! I've spent time with the squires watching what they do, I really want to try and be a knight, please let me do it!"

The boy's enthusiasm was infectious, if a little childish for his twelve years, but Kevan blamed that on a bullying brother and an obsessive mother. He smiled and promised he would talk to the Queen about taking him. At the mention of his mother, Tommen's face fell and he dropped his voice.

"Do you have to, Uncle? She will say no, say it's not safe, and then I'll have to stay with Joff, and, and," the boy stammered then whispered, "I don't like what he does."

Kevan had always prided himself on his perception of meaning, implied or otherwise, and he got Tommen's meaning loud and clear – "I don't like what he does_ to me_". He smiled and embraced the Prince, whispering in his ear, "You're coming with me lad, whether she says yes or no, because it's time you saw a fight, and your grandfather has said that I am to take you to Dragonstone."

He left Tommen and Myrcella, having made them promise not to tell anyone of what he had said. They had agreed readily enough and he was now further convinced that they were nothing like their menacing, twisted sibling.

Following this, he went to Tyrion. The dwarf knew that he was Kevan's placeholder, his father having told him as much, but even so, he planned to make full use of his position.

"I want to clear the Small Council. I suspect Pycelle is a spy for someone, I don't know who, but I don't trust him. Also, Slynt is Cersei's creature; I don't want him here any longer than necessary, though I shall wait until you are gone to act. I think the Wall would suit Slynt well, isn't that where those who kill babies tend to go?"

"I agree on both counts, a black cell should suit Pycelle nicely. He used to be your father's man, but now Cersei owns him too. You should know before I leave – I'm taking Tommen as a squire."

"My dear sister will not be happy."

"She wasn't, but she'll accept, her father has ordered it and she knows she can't afford to irk him with Renly's army so close if she has any chance of getting him to return to the capital. However, while I'm gone, I want you to get Myrcella out of the city; I believe that Joffrey is abusing both her and Tommen, though I do not have proof."

"I will see what I can do, perhaps a strategic marriage?"

"Possibly, but I must go, I sail at dawn."

"Fair winds, Uncle. You deserve to survive this more than most."

He had sought out Cersei again since then and finally gained her consent, provided that Ser Preston Greenfield of the Kingsguard accompany Tommen, with a detachment of twenty Lannister guards commanded by his son Lancel to protect the Prince. Kevan considered himself lucky to have haggled her down from fifty men, but was curious that she had chosen Lancel for the task. As he considered the woman to whom he was unfortunate enough to be related, he was approached by the captain the Queen Regent had chosen to command Tommen's escort alongside Lancel.

"Ser Kevan Lannister? I am Tregar, the Queen sent me to command the Prince's retinue."

"Good to meet you Captain, you are aware of course, that as a squire, Tommen will be at my side at all times."

"Not unless I allow it Ser. The Queen has instructed me to keep him well behind the lines, and the Queen gives me my orders, not you." The man turned and marched stiffly over to his men. A young man, puffed up by a command he was not ready for, Kevan had seen it before, most notably, if he was honest with himself, in his son Lancel. However, this Tregar was going to be a problem, obviously Cersei's spy. Kevan resolved that the man wouldn't make it to Dragonstone, he would not allow Tommen's future to be ruined by an up-jumped, ambitious captain who thought he could gain the Queen's favour and a knighthood. He shook his head, but he did not have time to consider the situation, as he was approached by his son.

"Father," Lancel said hesitantly, "The Queen asked me to report to you."

"Report to me, or to her?"

"I don't know what you mean father, I –"

"Lancel," he cut in curtly, "I am your father and I will have the truth of this, or I shall send you to fight with Lord Tywin's host in the Riverlands. Where the real fighting is." He added the last for emphasis. It was possibly a little cruel of him to use his son's weakness against him, as he knew Lancel was ashamed of his battle-fear, but he would have the truth.

Lancel quailed, before folding, "She suspects you of wanting to replace her in Tommen's eyes, and in the city. She wants me to report back to her."

"Why you?"

Lancel did not answer, but his father knew that look. It was the same look he had worn when his father found out that he had used his family name and good looks to bed a serving girl at Casterly Rock when he was fifteen.

"How long have you been going to her bed?"

The knight stammered and blustered.

"It matters not, though I won't pretend I'm not disgusted. It will not happen again, because once we take Dragonstone, I will become it's Lord, and I will not have my heir having an incestuous affair with the Queen Regent. Now go and perform your duties. You will report to Cersei only what I tell you to and you will keep Captain Tregar in line. The man won't make it to Dragonstone, but you will tell her that he died in the attack, a stray arrow maybe. Is that entirely clear?"

"Yes father."

"Go." Sometimes he despaired of the lad, always in awe of his cousin Jaime, idolising him, wanting to emulate him, now it seemed he had emulated his bedroom habits too. Would that Willem was his heir, the lad was smarter and more resilient, in both body and character, than Lancel had ever been. The same was true of Martyn, the younger by twenty minutes. He quickly shook such thoughts from his head, Lancel was his heir, and he would do his best to prepare him.

On the first night after they set sail, Captain Tregar fell overboard drunk, or at least that was what Kevan had told the crew. In reality he had invited the man to eat with him and the force's knights in the cabin of _King Robert's Hammer. _After two courses and a large amount of wine, Ser Lyle Crakehall had said he was to check the watch and invited Tregar to join him so they could compare notes on combat weapons (they had been having a lively debate on the benefits of the sword, Lyle's favourite, over the spear, Tregar's favourite). Honoured by this request from such a famous knight, Tregar had accepted. When Ser Lyle returned, he did so alone. Kevan was grateful for the big knight's presence, not only as he had agreed to lead the assault on Dragonstone's walls, but also as Tywin had instructed him to obey Kevan as if he were his liege lord. The same instruction had been given to Ser Addam Marbrand, who was a sound tactician and commander, and to the other knights. Tregar's place was taken by Ser Ronan Peckledon, Kevan's old friend. He was not proud of ordering the man's demise, yet it had needed done. Having successfully tackled Cersei's spies, Kevan went to bed rather hopeful. Lannister of Dragonstone had a nice ring to it. No, he wouldn't think like that, he must do his duty, nothing more. Gods he was tired.


	9. Chapter 9: Sansa

_NOTE - here's a character we've not heard from yet. Found writing this one more of a challenge than the others, as I've never really connected with Sansa as a character, something which I'm sure is entirely my loss. Anyway I decided I'd give it a shot. If anyone has a character they want me to do a chapter for, just PM me. Again, thanks for all the great reviews._

**_Chapter 9 – Sansa_**

King's Landing had been her dream, an escape from the wild lands of the North, full of life, singers and princes. Joffrey was her dream too – or had been. Now she hated him. The image of her father's severed head was emblazoned in her mind, along with that of Septa Mordane's. As much as she had complained about that woman, she had always been there and was now gone. Gone, all of them, her father and the septa, Jory, Poole, Hal and Arya. Though she would never have admitted it, she missed Arya. Many times she had wondered where her wilful sister had gone, why she had abandoned her to this place.

No-one wanted her here; no-one was on her side. The Queen hated her, she was sure, and would give her to Joffrey as soon as she flowered; Joffrey himself had pointed his crossbow at her and demanded her confessions of her treasons only this morning. He had only been distracted by the arrival of the Hound, who had scooped her up and told the King that Cersei had ordered him to bring her the girl. Once they were outside the Great Hall, the ugly man had pulled out a rag and wiped her tears, saying "Give him what he wants, little bird. It'll go easier for you." Since, then she had spent the time playing with Tommen and Myrcella.

Littlefinger had been nice, or at least his words had been. His eyes leered at her, as Joffrey's did, and that scared her. The only nice people she had met in King's Landing were the two most recent arrivals – Ser Kevan and Lord Tyrion. She had only spoken briefly to Ser Kevan before he departed for Dragonstone, and she remembered him fondly. He was not a handsome man, and was quite old, but he had been gentle, unlike the others.

"Lady Stark," he had said as her attendant Kingsguard, this time Ser Arys, admitted him to the room, "I came to collect Tommen and tell him to prepare for our departure, but I must needs have words with you too." The knight had been mobbed by his great niece and nephew and now he dismissed them to their own rooms, sending Tommen to the stables to gather his squiring kit.

"Ser…" she had hesitated, she could tell he was a Lannister, that much was obvious, but she didn't know his name.

"Ser Kevan Lannister, brother to Lord Tywin, the Queen Regent's uncle, and great-uncle to the King."

"Ser Kevan," she began again, remembering that a lady's courtesy was her armour, "Will you take refreshment Ser? I will have my maid fetch some if you wish?"

"No need, my lady, I only require a few moments of your time. Now tell me, does his grace treat you well?"

She blanched, "His grace is noble, and strong as a lion, and I love him." She tried not to make it sound robotic, but she wasn't a good liar, and she got the impression that Kevan didn't believe her.

"As you say, my lady, but surely you should describe him as a stag? That is the Baratheon sigil."

"The Queen always refers to him as a lion, and I don't think he's anything like King Robert. He was a drunk you see, I saw him with one of the serving girls when he came to Winterfell, Joffrey would never be unfaithful like that." Something about his expression told her that he still didn't believe her.

Ser Kevan had studied her closely, before standing, speaking as he did so, "As long as you are well-treated my lady, though if I were you, I would cover your right shoulder more, the bruising is showing through the fabric."

As he turned, she grabbed his arm to stop him. "Please Ser, you mustn't tell," she begged, "If her grace finds out, she'll –"

The knight cut her off, "No fears on that account my lady, I can hold my tongue, and don't you worry about my sweet niece either. When I return, things are going to change around here." He tapped his nose knowingly before smiling warmly and taking his leave.

She wasn't sure what to make of him, he had seemed like a genuinely nice man, but he was a Lannister, and Joffrey had seemed perfectly nice, as had the Queen. She was mulling in her thoughts when Ser Arys entered.

"My Lady, the Princess begs you attend her."

"Of course, I shall come at once," she may have been Joffrey's betrothed, but she could not refuse Myrcella, the Queen had made that perfectly clear.

Within ten minutes, she had been admitted to the Princess' chamber and Ser Arys had been dismissed. Sansa liked Ser Arys, he was the only Kingsguard who showed any reluctance when Joffrey ordered him to beat her, and objected every time until Joff threatened to have his head. Even when he did hit her, he did not use any force, the King had grown bored and now didn't use Arys for her beatings. With the knight gone, she felt exposed and vulnerable.

"You sent for me, Princess?"

"Please, my name is Myrcella, use it."

"As you wish Myrcella"

"My friends call me Cella."

"I don't think the Queen would – "

"Go on, she'll never know, just call me Princess in public."

"As you wish Cella."

"I want to talk to you about Joffrey."

"I love his grace with all my heart, and hope you will let me call you sister when we are married," the words came easily.

"Do you? I'm not sure I do. He's very cruel to us, Tommen and I. I wanted to warn you. Give him what he wants, and he won't hurt you."

"I don't know what you mean."

"Sansa, I'm young but not stupid, I know he has the Kingsguard beat you, as he himself beats his little brother and sometimes myself. I just long to get away, Sansa. Now Tommen is going with Ser Kevan to Dragonstone, he will turn to me. I so scared." The girl was weeping by this stage, Sansa didn't know what to do other than embrace her. She hoped that Myrcella would escape Joffrey, she was an innocent girl, as Sansa had been. She held the crying girl tight, and soon she too was crying.


	10. Chapter 10: Brynden

_NOTE – New POV, as requested by Lord of Carrion, any one else have any suggestions, feel free. Just a reminder, ages of younger characters altered to make any proposed marriages a little less weird. Review, Follow, Favourite! DISCLAIMER – you know the drill by now – I own nothing._

_**Chapter 10 – Brynden**_

The raven came at dawn. As he saw it, he remembered the old saying _"Dark wings, dark words"_. The King in the North was meeting with his northern lords, so his great-uncle, Brynden "Blackfish" Tully, read the letter. He sighed as he read. He should have foreseen this. He folded the message beneath his chainmail sleeve and went to find the King.

As he entered the command pavilion, he saw that his nephew Ser Edmure was also present and stood before the King, boasting of his successes three days past at the fords.

"The Mountain came on us with no thought for his flanks, so I had Marq Piper lead the cavalry in on his left. We slaughtered them."

Robb spoke quietly, "Did you kill the Mountain?"

"Sadly not nephew, he cut his way through, though many tried to stop him."

"How many men did you lose?"

"264"

"And how many Lannister dead?"

"378"

"That hardly seems like a slaughter to me."

"They could not withstand us. You said we were to defend our lands, so we did."

Brynden could not watch this any longer, "You do not speak to him like this. He is your King."

Edmure responded, "My nephew means I meant no disrespect."

"Don't call him nephew either. You're lucky I'm not your King." Though pushing his sixtieth name-day, the Blackfish was hale and strong, and knew he could flatten Edmure if necessary. It appeared that the young lord knew that too, as he subsided without further argument.

King Robb spoke again, "Ser Edmure, you were told to draw the Mountain to the west. You drew him west to the fords - I wanted him drawn as far from Lord Tywin as possible, so we could surround him and put his head on a spike. But now?"

"I - I – I am sorry your grace. I did not know."

"No, but you did put your own sense of pride before the war effort. Do we have hostages?"

"Only three of any note – Ser Forley Prester, Ser Artos Brax and Ser Trenton Banefort."

"And our noble losses?"

"They captured no-one, but Ser Raynald Vance and Torrhen Karstark are dead."

"Gods forbid his father finds out."

"He knows your grace, he asked one of his captains when we returned."

"Ser Edmure, you are temporarily deprived of command. Go. Ser Brynden, what news?"

As his blundering nephew left, the Blackfish stepped forward. "The raven we sent to the Eyrie had returned with news, your grace, bearing Lord Stannis' seal."

Robb's face fell, "Read it."

"I Stannis of the House Baratheon, First of my Name – "

"I know the titles."

"Am sorry that I cannot accept your terms, though not through lack of desire to do so. During a parley in which my lords and I were required to ascend to the Eyrie unarmed, Lady Lysa threw herself and her son from the Moon Door. It is for this reason that I cannot accept your terms. Lord Harrold Arryn, previously of House Hardyng, has declared the armies of the Vale for me. I ask you now to reconsider your position and swear fealty to me, as the rightful King of Westeros. My other terms are that, firstly, there will be no marriage pact between my daughter, the Princess of Dragonstone, and a cripple, though I believe that you are unwed. Secondly, your sister Sansa will marry Lord Harrold Arryn once King's Landing has been liberated. If you agree to these terms, I request that you march your forces to link up with mine at Saltpans."

"How do we know she fell? What if she was pushed?" Lord Bolton voiced what all were thinking.

"It does seem very convenient for Stannis." Brynden responded, "Yet, I know Lysa, she is not, was not, well. Her mind began to play tricks upon her, while I am suspicious, I do not think it unlikely. Also, why would Stannis remove Robert too?"

"To have this lad Harrold in the High Seat of the Eyrie, to manipulate him."

"Yes, but Robert was also manipulable, more easily than most, I dare say."

The discussion was interrupted by shouts outside the pavilion, then Lord Karstark burst in. "Where is the young lord trout?" he demanded, "He killed my son."

"Calm yourself Rickard," the Greatjon's tone was anything but calming; "The Mountain killed Torrhen, not Edmure."

"Aye, Gregor Clegane cut him in two from shoulder to opposite hip, or so my men say, but it was Tully who sent him to his death."

"Lord Karstark, I am grieved by Torrhen's death, he was my friend, but you cannot expect to have my uncle's head, it could have been anyone who had got in the Mountain's path." Robb attempted to console him.

He looked as if he were about to shout back, but took a quick glance at Brynden, before growling "I will have my vengeance boy, whether you grant it or not." With a look of thunder, Karstark stalked out.

Brynden slowly lowered his hand from his dirk. Though he was sure that Karstark would have his steel out as fast as he could, and though the man was ten years his junior, the Lord carried a longsword rather than the shorter blade, something Brynden had learnt from the Dornish during the War of the Ninepenny Kings – always carry a dirk, you can have it drawn and in your opponents eye socket before he's pulled out a longer blade. Since that war, the Blackfish had always carried both a dirk and longsword, and had never been beaten on the draw.

"This news from Stannis is not good, your grace," Bolton cut the tension in the tent with a whisper, "The Vale can muster thirty thousand swords, no doubt Stannis will be descending upon the Riverlands as fast as he can. We must send him new terms."

"Aye, we need allies your grace. Tywin Gold-shitting Lannister won't give you your mother back so we can continue negotiations with Renly, and his army sits at Harrenhal, none of our messengers will get around him." Lord Umber, for once, agreed with the Leech lord of Bolton.

Robb frowned, "I concur, Renly is out, and I will not kneel to Joffrey, yet Stannis will not accept our independence. Any word from Theon?"

"Only the same as before your grace, he took ship at Seagard according to Jason Mallister's castellan, but there has been nought since."

"I cannot decide this alone. Lord Bolton, summon both the Northern Lords and Riverlords."

"As you command your grace."

As the men began to gather, Brynden leaned in to the King, "Your Grace, Karstark is not trustworthy near Lannister prisoners, might I advise that you give him an independent command? Send his last son with him, so should he die then his father cannot blame you."

Robb responded, "I want Harrion here, in case he decides that I am not his King, he has threatened to leave once before."

By this time, most of the Lords were gathered. Tytos Blackwood, tall and hook-nosed, Jonos Bracken, shorter and stocky, Jason Mallister, the legendary tourney jouster, Ser Stevron Frey, Lord Walder's heir, Ser Edmure and himself for the Riverlands, while Roose Bolton, the Greatjon, Karstark, Galbart Glover and Sers Wylis Manderly and Helman Tallhart were there for the North.

The King spoke. "My lords, we face a choice. We cannot fight this war alone much longer. The Lannisters will not sue for peace, this much we can assume as Tion Frey has not returned. Renly may have wanted peace, but is now beyond our reach, while we have still no reply from the Ironborn. This leaves us with Stannis, who would have us swear fealty and give up our independence, while selling my elder sister to his puppet-lord in the Eyrie. What are your thoughts, my lords?"

Lord Tytos Blackwood was the first to speak, "Might we hear the full terms, your grace?"

Robb nodded, and Brynden read the letter again.

Jason Mallister spoke next, "He wants no lands from us? No payments?"

"It would appear not."

"Then what is our delay? We can reach Saltpans in a week; Stannis will probably be there around that time too." Ser Stevron questioned. He looked remarkably unlike his father, Brynden noted, luckily for him. He also had a stomach for battle, unlike Lord Walder. Stevron's rule would be notable change for the Twins, but he doubted that Stevron would survive the internal politics of his family long.

"He wants me to marry his daughter, Ser. Surely you remember that I am betrothed to your sister?"

Lord Bolton cut in, "You have another brother your grace."

"He's already said he won't accept Bran, and I understand that, we don't even know if he can… well."

"I didn't mean Brandon."

"Rickon? He's nine."

"Shireen is thirteen; it's not so large a gap when you consider they'll spend their lives together. They wouldn't marry until they were both old enough anyway." The Greatjon agreed. Agreeing with Bolton twice in one day, was the man ill?

Edmure was quick to seize this, "Your Grace, if Rickon weds Shireen, he will be her consort when she sits the Iron Throne."

"Poor boy." Brynden couldn't contain himself, and half the Lords present chortled.

Rickard Karstark stepped forward, "This is all very well, declaring for Stannis, but when will I have my revenge?"

"As soon as you can march, my lord. You will take the Karstark, Manderly, Flint, Mooton and Piper men to raid the Westerlands. Make Tywin bleed. Cut up through the hills from Pinkmaiden, and take the Golden Tooth, Ashemark and The Crag. Do not try to garrison them, raze them to the ground. Any gold from the Tooth, send back to Riverrun, I would love to be able to pay off Tywin with his own coin. There is your revenge, Lord Karstark."

"Thank you, your grace." For the first time, he sounded sincere.

Brynden smiled, not only would this get a very quarrelsome Lord out of the way, but it would give him a purpose, and threaten the Lannisters homeland while their main forces were tied up in the East.

"Any objections to siding with King Stannis?"

No-one spoke.

"In that case my lords, we march at dawn. If you are with Lord Karstark, gather your men at the river bend a mile west, if you are marching to Saltpans, gather on the Riverroad."

As the lords filed out, Brynden was asked to wait by his King. "How many extra men can the Riverlands raise? On top of the fifteen thousand we have already?"

"Another five thousand at a push, why?"

"I'm sending north for more men, I believe another eight thousand will march, I am giving Marlon Manderly the command. We need knights more than anything, so I have written Lord Manderly. I have also instructed him to sail the fleet my father requested down to meet Stannis' so we can assault King's Landing from the sea."

"I would agree with your naval plans, your grace, yet I would not call for more men – we still do not know Balon Greyjoy's plans, the entire western coast is undefended, he could attack the North."

"Why would he do that? The Westerlands are much nearer."

"Yes, but he's attacked there before, and how well did that turn out?"

"A prudent plan, you may be right. But we still need more cavalry, I'll send to Manderly and Ryswell. White Harbour fields the best knights in the North, and the Rills breed the best horses."

"If that is all, your grace?"

"Two more things uncle. Stop calling me your grace, I won't be King much longer and I want you to lead the outriders. Now go and prepare."

As the Blackfish turned to go, he smiled. He had worried that the boy's heart would rule his head, but was glad to find it not so. He suspected that Robb had realised what he had. Any King who won the Iron Throne would eventually turn to take back the regions lost, and defiant as they were, they could not stand against the whole South.

Brynden Tully remembered fighting alongside Tywin Lannister in the War of the Ninepenny Kings, and he wondered if the old man could still wield a sword as well as he had then. He smiled again; he was older than Lannister, what did that make him? Still, he was confident that with the Kingslayer in chains and Tygett long dead, not one of the Lannisters could beat him in a fair fight, but when had they ever fought fair?


	11. Chapter 11: Davos IV

_NOTE - and so we return to Davos, and an army on the march. As requested by reviews, this cahpter shows a little more of Stannis' newfound relationship with Shireen (reminder that Shireen is 13 in this fic). I always imagine him as a typical over-protective father, even if thats not how the books show him, at least the TV series does, and I like that touch. Also a bit of Selyse-bashing here, my favourite hobby in Davos chapters as you may have noticed. Any POV requests or constructive criticism, PM me. Favourite, Follow, Review!_

_**Chapter 11 – Davos**_

The march had been exhausting. Davos was a sailor, and not being used to long-distance riding, dismounted at the end of everyday aching from cheeks to feet. Despite this, while on the road, there had been upsides. The news of Robb Stark accepting Stannis' terms had arrived only two days ago, though the Young Wolf explained that he was promised to marry one of Walder Frey's brood and offered his youngest brother, Rickon, as a husband for Shireen. Stannis had agreed to this willingly enough, much to Davos' relief, again on the condition that both he and Shireen meet Rickon as soon as possible and see if he was suitable for her. Added to this were the usual points about the wedding waiting until they were both able to consummate the union, Davos only knew this because it was the first letter he wrote himself, with the Princess over his shoulder, checking his work. It had taken five drafts, but he had been gleeful as a young boy when it was done.

The Princess herself, contrary to his expectations, seemed to be thriving in the military camp. The men appeared to adore her, and though the Valesmen had originally hung back from her, that was now only a memory, and she was well-liked by all, if shy. She had become fast friends with her sworn shield, Ser Andros Celtigar, and got on well with the other Kingsguard, particularly the two knights of the Vale whom Stannis had accepted into his Seven with open arms. The induction of Sers Harlan and Jasper had caused some uproar as Jasper was his father's heir, but Stannis had stuck to the traditions of the Kingsguard and made him recant his claim to Redfort, which he duly did.

As Davos watched the Princess riding in front of him, it occurred to him how much time she had spent with her father on the long march to Saltpans. Apart from war councils and planning meetings, he had never seen the King without her. He had overheard them discussing many things, though the conversations had started weakly, the King not really knowing what to say, Shireen had asked him about the Vale Houses that had joined them. This had led to a lesson on sigils, which Davos himself had learnt from. It had really encouraged him to hear Stannis animatedly describing the banners of different houses and her delight at guessing them correctly. As time wore on, they moved away from the Vale to the other regions.

"A roaring giant chained, in brown on red."

"House Umber of Last Hearth."

"A burning tree on ash grey."

"House Marbrand of Ashemark."

And so it had continued. Then suddenly, one night, she had appeared at a war council, and despite Lord Royce's polite objections, she had stayed. Her father seemed to be delighted with the interest she was showing in the war, and Davos too was amazed, hardly recognising the shy little girl who hid from her mother. Her title as Princess of Dragonstone had been officially confirmed that night, as Stannis maintained that, even during Robert's reign, it was the seat of the rightful heir to the Iron Throne. With her officially recognised as Stannis' heir, no-one had questioned her presence, though, still being shy, she kept her silence, asking any questions once she was alone with her father and Davos. One particular meeting returned to his mind.

"Lord Stark is moving twenty thousand of his men to Saltpans, we'll combine our forces and march south, heading for Rosby first, then King's Landing." The King was once again going over the marching plans.

"With respect your grace, "Lord Belmore spoke, "What about his other five thousand?"

"They have gone with Lord Rickard Karstark to ravage the Westerlands as Gregor Clegane ravaged the Riverlands. He tells us that his scouts report that Amory Lorch has led his raiding party after them, but that's only five hundred men and Lorch is a fool, Karstark will have his head. Lord Stark also informs me that the White Harbor fleet is now sailing to meet ours at Gulltown, that we may combine our land assault with a naval onslaught."

Davos raised his voice, "Your Grace, Lord Velryon writes that the Vale fleet, small as it is has been repaired from the storms of the last month and is ready to sail."

"Have him await Lord Manderly's fleet; though Lord Too-Fat isn't commanding it himself, his eldest son Ser Wylis leads them."

"Aye your grace."

When the commanders had dispersed, Lord Celtigar approached Davos.

"My Lord, " Davos still hadn't got use to that title, "My men have reported signs of wolves, they say it must be a huge pack, to leave so many prints, I had a look myself some of them are colossal," he voice was barely a whisper.

"I don't know much about wolves, Ardrian, but I do know that they won't attack our camp while we have fires lit. How old were the tracks?"

"About three days."

"Then most like they have moved on, let's hope theyre harassing Lannisters for us," he clapped the big man on the shoulder. Davos liked Ardrian Celtigar, he could be a little superstitious, but all those who grew up in the shadow of Dragonmont were, and at least he wasn't a pious fool like Guncer Sunglass. In addition, he was a strong warrior and capable soldier, and had proved to work a similar role for Davos as he did for the King, to such an extent that the men had started to call him the Finger of the King.

As he turned back to his King and Princess, he heard Shireen ask her father something he had not expected.

"Father, I heard Ser Jasper say to Ser Gilwood that soon I would wed a wolf pup. Who did he mean?"

Stannis looked angry briefly, before his expression softened, "In order to secure his fealty, Lord Stark required a marriage between our houses to cement the alliance, so you were promised to his youngest brother Rickon." Davos smiled at this, it had been Stannis, not Stark who had insisted, but the girl didn't need to know that.

"Oh, I thought you said Lord Stark wasn't married in a meeting yesterday?"

"He isn't, but he is promised to Lady Roslin of House Frey, and the eldest of his younger brothers, Brandon, is a cripple, so you were betrothed to the youngest, Rickon."

At the mention of cripples, the Princess' face fell, "Mother always said I was a cripple and I brought shame on us all. Said all I would ever get would be some marriage to an old fat hedge knight. Said I should have died rather than curse her with such a monster."

Stannis' voice broke as he reached over to embrace her, "Your mother is gone, my daughter. You are the Princess of Dragonstone, heir to the Iron Throne and you will marry Rickon of the noble House Stark. He is a little younger than you, so it won't be for a few years yet, but he will treat you well and sit by your side. If he doesn't, he will answer to me, you hear? Now, go back to your tent, it's late."

The King stiffened as he straightened. Physical contact had never come easily for Stannis Baratheon, and despite how close he had come to Shireen, any touches were few and far between.

"Gods be good Davos, I won't lose her. I won't lose my girl."

"You won't your grace, she is safe. Ser Andros would give his life for her."

"She's not safe. I'm marching an army into war, and I brought my daughter with me."

"You could always return her to Dragonstone or the Eyrie."

"No. I left her there for twelve years while I helped Jon Arryn rule. I left her with nothing but an ancient maester, a witless fool and a mother who hated her. What kind of a father am I, Davos?"

"The kind who had her best interests at heart, King's Landing would have ruined the poor girl."

"Was Dragonstone the best for her? It matters not. I will not lose her, I will not. Promise me Davos, if the battle goes ill, should we all be lost, get her to safety. You have friends across the Narrow Sea, yes."

"I do your grace."

"Take her there; keep her safe should our cause be lost. I will not lose her; I would have her rule once I have passed, but I would not have her die for it. I will not lose her."

Davos saw the grim determination in the King's eyes, and felt sorry for any who would threaten the Princess. He also felt apprehension, he had not been over the Narrow Sea in many years, would his old friends know him? Most of all though, he felt sorry for Rickon Stark, the poor lad would be subjected to nothing but suspicion on Stannis' part for a long time, until he proved himself worthy of Shireen's hand. He hoped the boy was strong.


	12. Chapter 12: Kevan III

_NOTE – Sorry it's been a while, have been swamped with work. Am trying to boost the length of chapters to about 2000 words each so characters can get more done. This one did end up a lot longer than I intended, but there was so much to fit in I couldn't really get away with cutting it down. I do tend to get going and be unable to stop with Kevan's chapters.  
_

_**Chapter 12 – Kevan**_

As Ser Kevan Lannister rode into the main courtyard of Dragonstone, he regretted not leading the attack himself. He quickly brushed that thought from his mind, it was ridiculous. Leading an assault on any castle, never mind one so mighty as Dragonstone, was a young man's work, and he was old. Besides, he couldn't let Tommen follow him into the fray. He was keen that the boy see battle, but not keen _that _keen. In his view, Tommen had to stay alive for the Lannisters to win. He didn't see Joffrey lasting long, too many hated him. He would most like be poisoned by someone unexpected, not that Kevan would be sorry. His thoughts turned back briefly to young Lady Stark, with whom he had had a brief conversation before leaving the capital, could she kill Joffrey? He didn't think it likely, though he wouldn't be surprised as he more than deserved it after all he'd done to her.

Snapping himself out of his reverie, he dismounted in front of the Ser Lyle. The Strongboar had led the attack valiantly, as he had promised he would, and now wore the marks of his struggle. A gash above his left eye and impressive cuts to his right arm and left calf and bathed in blood, the man looked as if he had risen from the dead. The same blood steamed off his armour, and Kevan could only imagine how hot it had become in there during the fighting. His shield splintered, his sword notched and the sigil of his house barely recognisable on his shredded surcoat, he looked exhausted. All the same, he bowed, as Lord Tywin had instructed him, and said, "Dragonstone is yours my lord."

Kevan had never been called Lord before, so was briefly taken aback, "I suppose I am now. I do hope that isn't your blood ser."

"No fear there my lord. They fought well for Reach men, though someone should tell them that putting a fox on their banners doesn't make them strong, only cunning, and sometimes not even that."

"How many prisoners?"

"47, including one Axell Florent, Stannis' castellan."

"And Lord Florent's brother, a valuable hostage."

"Indeed my lord."

"Any other notables?"

"One young lad, calls himself the Lord of Crackclaw Point"

"We have the Bar Emmon lad? Lancel!"

His son came running up from where he had been disarming the captives, "Lord Father."

Lord again, they'd better be careful or it might catch on, and Cersei would most definitely not be keen on that. "See that Lord Bar Emmon and Ser Axell are given good quarters, and properly fed."

"Yes, my lord." There it was again.

Kevan now turned to the other prisoners. "You have fought bravely for your house. You now have two choices. You can be kept in chains and taken back to the capital to await the King's Justice, or you can take new oaths of service to House Lannister of Dragonstone. We will equip you, feed you and treat you as our own. You have until nightfall to decide." With that, he strode off.

Later on, as dusk set in, his commanders gathered in the Chamber of the Painted Table. Ser Lyle had washed and looked much more human without his helmet. It was a monstrous thing with huge steel tusks. Beside him, Ser Addam looked thin and short, though in reality he was still a tall as Kevan, though wiry. Ser Robert Brax, the middle son of Lord Andros, stood in the shadows and Ser Steffon Stackspear, old Lord Selmond's heir was at the window. Kevan's force consisted entirely of knights, he had no lords, but of that he was glad as they were always reluctant to take orders from a mere knight. Lancel had been summoned too. Last to arrive was Tommen, accompanied by Ser Ronan Peckledon. He had been a little shaken by the chaos of the attack, but had fulfilled his squirely duties perfectly, and had survived. The same could not be said of the Kingsguard Ser Preston, who had taken an arrow when he rode forward, leading the second wave of attackers. In addition to this, he had been skewered like a pig upon gaining the top of the walls. Lancel had accompanied his wave, and insisted that the knight slew at least six of the defenders, even with a spear in his side. The little prince looked saddened at the loss of his protector, but also thrilled that he had been called to this meeting of, in his eyes at least, great knights and lords.

"My Prince, you acquitted yourself well in the battle." Kevan bowed as his squire entered, "though I hope you will not object if we don't knight you just yet."

"I can't be knighted uncle, I didn't fight."

"No but you fulfilled your duties better than any of us hoped, it was such a shame about Ser Preston's fate," Ser Addam managed to look genuinely saddened, remarkable given that the Kingsguard had looked down on his childhood friend once he had received his white cloak.

"He was strange; he was very gruff with me. He wouldn't have done that when mother was around."

"I'm sure he wouldn't," Kevan jumped in, "but your mother wasn't charged with protecting you in battle. He was acting in your best interests." He couldn't afford for Tommen to start pining for his mother. "Now, why don't you take a walk on the walls with your guards and explore?" The excited lad ran out, and Ser Ronan followed him.

"Now to business," Kevan wasted no time now Tommen was gone. "I am now Lord of Dragonstone, by order of the King, but we are required back in the capital, especially with Renly so close. I plan to take all but five hundred men with us, enough to hold this place against any forces in the area. Lancel, you will remain as castellan, this will be your seat when I pass, so you should know it, and know how to hold it." In truth, he wanted to keep Lancel from Cersei more than any of these reasons, but he didn't need to share that.

"Once we return to the city," he continued, "I will assume the post of Lord Regent. This will require a full-scale coup. If I have judged Cersei right, she will not accept her father's letter as proof and will have me locked away. Sers Addam, Lyle, Robert and Steffon, you will accompany me to deal with Cersei. My nephew Lord Tyrion writes that his man Ser Jacelyn Bywater now commands the City Watch, and he has brought the Small Council to heel. Pycelle rots in a black cell and Slynt is bound for the Wall, while Littlefinger has been dispatched as a token ambassador to Renly's camp. This leaves our only opposition as the Queen's guardsmen."

"Surely they are sworn to House Lannister?" Ser Robert asked, his voice was high and soft and had lulled many opponents into forgetting his deadly skill with a blade. He was at least as competent as his brothers and had even once got the better of the Strongboar. Ser Robert was not married, and on this campaign, Kevan had learnt why. Though they were always on opposite sides of any meeting, he and Ser Steffon were seldom apart, and he had seen them entering each other's cabins when at sea.

"In theory yes, but they are more loyal to her."

"How do we deal with this then?"

"We have her son. Tommen will remain on this ship, with Ser Ronan and his guards, while we land with most of our men and head to the Red Keep. Tyrion will open the gates to us, and from there we can deal with Cersei."

"What about Myrcella, my lord?" Marbrand enquired.

"She has gone to Dorne, to wed Prince Trystane. An idea of Tyrion's I believe, to keep her safe from both her mother and brother. Much the same reasons that Tommen came with us."

"What will become of the Queen when she is removed from power?"

"She will return to Casterly Rock at the next opportunity, where her aunt Genna can keep an eye on her and she cannot meddle. Any questions? No? Good. We leave tomorrow gentlemen, prepare your men."

Having dismissed his captains, Kevan turned to his son, "Lancel, hold this castle. Lord Tywin has made me Lord of Dragonstone, and you will rule here after me. I'm giving you plenty of men. Strengthen the defences and build up the stores. You know what to do, do not fail me."

"Yes father. Do you still wish me to write to the Queen of Tregar's death?"

"Yes, do it now, so the news arrives before we do. Find the maester."

As Lancel left, Kevan found his eyes drawn to the Painted Table. In order to view it more effectively, he climbed into the tall chair placed just off the coast. His gaze turned to King's Landing and his mind towards the future. Lord Regent, he had never wanted that, never asked for it, but he would do his best, and to do that he needed rid of Cersei. She would go to Casterly Rock, but not willingly. He would take her into custody if necessary, but she would go. He and Tyrion would rule while Tywin destroyed the Starks. The news of his nephews successes in King's Landing was welcome. With the Small Council purged of Cersei's men and the Gold Cloaks commanded by Tyrion's man, his rule of the capital was secure. However, how long would that last with Renly descending upon them? Plus, he could not be rid of Cersei until the roads were clear, he would not risk sending her out until Renly was gone. As much as he didn't like her, he didn't want her dead. They had taken her children from her, Tommen gone to war and Myrcella to Dorne, only Joffrey remained to her, and now they would split her from him as well. Kevan understood her animosity, but not her stupidity.

Two days later, Kevan's ship was docking as he assessed the situation. Even from the docks, the tension in the city was palpable. He was pleased to see that Tyrion had not been idle, new war machines lined the walls, and the number of warships docked in the harbour had doubled. Kevan looked over to the group of men who had gathered to accompany him to the Red Keep. This advance group, consisting of himself, his chosen knights and two hundred and fifty men would march to the castle, while the rest disembarked. Tommen's ship, commanded by Ser Ronan Peckledon waited in the bay, just beyond the two huge towers that had arisen, again Kevan assumed they were Tyrion's doing.

After they had docked and had begun the march to confront Cersei, they were met by none other than Tyrion himself, accompanied by an escort of Gold Cloaks and tribesmen.

"Uncle! It appears that even Dragonstone cannot kill you."

"It didn't try very hard, there were only two hundred men holding it, all Florents. We have Ser Axell and Lord Bar Emmon as hostages."

"Excellent. Is that your own sigil?" he asked, pointing at the icons on Kevan's shield and those of his soldiers.

"It is. If I am Lord of Dragonstone I need a different banner to my brother." The two silver lions combatant on red had been Lancel's idea and Kevan had liked it, and ordered it painted on the shields of his soldiers. When one man had objected, saying that he was sworn to House Lannister of Casterly Rock, Kevan had told him that he was welcome to walk back to Casterly Rock if he wished.

"Two lions to mark yourself as the second son, I like it."

"It seemed appropriate. Not that I want to rush you Tyrion, but we must needs report to the Queen Regent."

"Ah, of course, my sweet sister. I shall accompany you, I would so love to see her fury directed at someone else for a change."

As they rode, they discussed the changes Tyrion had made. The Imp confessed that the tower was his idea, and that a huge boom chain was being forged, that could be raised by the towers and prevent Stannis' fleet escaping. Soon though, the conversation turned to Joffrey.

"He abuses the girl daily now, I walked into the throne room and he had Meryn Trant beating her with the flat of his sword, the poor girl was half naked, in front of the whole court."

Kevan had promised Sansa Stark that things would change, and change they would now he had returned. First of all, an end to this betrothal. The King could not marry a traitor's daughter, but mostly so the girl would not suffer the horror of a bedding with Joffrey. Secondly, he would implicate a training regime for the King, such that Tommen had been subjected to. It had been the making of the young prince, would it do the same for his brother? Thirdly, the Kingsguard would be reorganised. It was in disarray, Jaime was captive in the Riverlands, Sandor Clegane wasn't even a knight, Meryn Trant was an up-jumped thug, Boros Blount was a fat, jowly toad of a man, Preston Greenfield was dead, Mandon Moore he did not know and Arys Oakheart had been sent to Dorne with Myrcella. Three of them had to go. Kevan had a mind to promote Ser Lyle Crakehall, but doubted the big man would accept.

Before he had finished ordering his thoughts the doors of the throne room were opening in front of them. Joffrey sat arrogantly on the Iron Throne, one leg thrown over the arm as if he were displaying himself. His mother stood beside him, a terrified-looking Sansa Stark on the other side. The Kingsguard were arrayed before the throne, with files of Cersei's men behind it and along the walls. Cersei was obviously expecting them. Kevan, Tyrion and their men stood before the throne, a mixture of Kevan's men, Gold Cloaks and Vale tribesmen.

The Queen Regent stepped forward, "Ser Kevan, I trust you come to tell my son his fortress at Dragonstone has been recaptured for him."

"Lord Lannister, if you'd please, by order of your Lord father, the Hand of the King. Yes, Dragonstone is recaptured, but not for his Grace's use."

Joffrey bolted upright, "What do you mean?"

"He means that, by the order of the absent Hand of the King, and confirmed by the Acting Hand, he is Lord Kevan Lannister of House Lannister of Dragonstone, and also Lord Regent and Protector of the Realm." The Strongboar's voice echoed off the stone pillars as he went on to read the orders Tywin had given Kevan when he originally gave him this mission. In the silence that followed, no-one moved. Until Cersei spoke again,

"I know you weren't here Ser Kevan, but I remember, not so long ago, another man who tried to reach too far above his station. We were all here, gathered just like this. I trust you remember him too."

"I remember Lord Eddard well enough, and he would have made a better Regent than you." He had had enough of this mummer's farce.

"He was a traitor, you see," Cersei carried on regardless, though she was obviously livid, "and here you stand, having forsaken the sigil of your house. Silver lions, how appropriate, father is the gold, and you could never equal him, could you? No matter how hard you tried."

That was it. "I am your uncle. I have served your father all my life and I continue to do so. You were given your chance to rule, and you blew it. You corrupted my son, took him into your bed, and the war you started has left my other sons and your brother in the hands of the Northerners. By what madness was Ned Stark killed? What about the dead babies? How long can you sit there before you realise that you were not meant to rule? Tyrion may be the littlest Lannister, but you are the least. You couldn't even be happy being Queen. You had to have your man kill your husband, so you could be regent."

She was speechless. That was good. He had longed to give her a good scalding for years. It had been too long since she had been told no.

"Is this true mother? Did you bed Ser Lancel?" the King's voice was soft, but laden with venom, though Kevan was a little disgusted by his lack of caring that his mother killed his father.

"Of course not. That would be disgusting incest, I am not a Targaryen," she quickly changed the subject, "Ser Kevan Lannister, you are hereby named a traitor to your house and your King. Sandor, seize him."

The Hound advanced, but as he did so, Kevan's companions drew their blades and Ser Lyle squared up to the younger Clegane.

"Cersei, we are giving you one last chance. Surrender, accept Kevan as Regent." Tyrion was almost pleading. Then, as Kevan had heard had happened with Eddard Stark, Joffrey stood and screamed,

"Kill them all! I want their traitor heads!"

Kevan drew his sword on instinct, as did his knights. The Kingsguard led the charge. Hound and Boar crashed together with a noise like thunder. In the chaos, Kevan found himself parrying desperately against Ser Meryn. Despite the ferocity of his attack, he was out of practice, whereas Kevan practiced daily. As the fight raged around him, he heard Tyrion shout, "Commander, do not let the Queen Regent escape!" But before Kevan could register this, Meryn was on him again. The knight was tiring, this he could tell, but he was not as young as he used to be. Swords clashed around them, men screamed as they died. Then Meryn made his mistake, a great sidestroke, one-handed which left his chest open. Kevan ducked inside the sword's arc, pulled his dagger and dug it inot the Kingsguard's knee. As Meryn howled, he backed off and swung. The knight fell to the ground, smiling blood from ear to ear.

He looked around, and saw that his men had had the better of the fight. A dozen Gold Cloaks lay dead, and a few tribesmen, but they were mostly Cersei's men. He saw that the tribesmen had hold of Cersei and Joffrey, the Queen sporting a growing bruise on her cheek. Tyrion was comforting Sansa as his furious sister looked on. He looked around, and saw Sers Boros and Mandon held by his men. He looked around for the Hound. He found him lying in a pool of his own blood, Ser Lyle Crakehall standing over him. The Strongboar was bleeding heavily, and collapsed while Kevan watched. He dimly heard someone call for a maester. Then he turned to Cersei.

"Now do you see? DO YOU SEE?"

"I see a traitor."

"Do you see why you cannot rule Cersei? Why you must not rule?"

"No. I see that a man of my family has betrayed his brother, his house and his father's memory."

"Take her away, confine her to her chambers. She will be guarded day and night, no-one is to speak with her." Four of his men frog-marched the Queen away.

"And as for you," he said, knowing he had to be careful, even now, "You realise now that I had to do it? Of course you don't, a child can rarely see his mother's faults, but listen to me now. The war is going badly, the realm was ruled badly by your mother. Her meddling nearly cost you your crown. With your grandfather in the field, and Tyrion and I here to help you rule, you may yet survive this."

The boy did not speak, but shrugged off his guards and stormed off.

"You may want to watch your back, uncle." Tyrion said.

"Aye, I may do at that."

He must write to Tywin, and tell him what had happened. Lord Lannister would not be pleased, but what was done could not be undone. He was Regent, but there had been a cost, paid in blood. He would get to work straight away. The remainder of Cersei's men had to be reminded that they served House Lannister, not Cersei, and new Kingsguard had to be appointed to replace Meryn and the Hound. However, most importantly, Renly had to be dealt with. First though, some wine. Kevan was not a great drinker, but he needed something to keep him from collapsing. He suddenly felt old, older than he had felt for a long time. He hoped that Tywin didn't feel old, or they may not survive the war.


	13. Chapter 13: Battle Prelude

_**NOTE **__– The next two chapters are going to be hefty. I have decided that rather than take ages telling the story of the lead up to the Battle of King's Landing, and the battle itself, in the eyes of each POV character, or make it incomplete by only using one, I should split the chapter between several different characters. This means that these next two will be considerably larger than the others. This chapter deals with the lead up to the battle, while the next will be the battle itself. Credit to cbstevp, author of the 'Ned Stark Lives' series, from whom I have shamelessly stolen this format idea._

_The last two POVs are not preparing for the battle, but are important to the story._

_**Chapter 13**_

_Margaery_

They were two days from the capital and victory was in sight. Eighty thousand men were set to storm the capital, and then she would be Queen. Their informant had told them that the city's defenders were well below par, of the six thousand Gold Cloaks, only two thousand were properly trained, The Imp had brought some two hundred Vale tribesmen, brutal but undisciplined, Cersei's five hundred Lannister soldiers had been on garrison duty since Robert's Rebellion, so most had gone soft, and Ser Kevan Lannister had returned, bringing another one and a half thousand men. These men of Ser Kevan's were apparently the only battle-hardened troops in the city. Renly had been positively jubilant at hearing this news, and his good humour had remained until the other news reached them, Stannis was marching on the capital too, with thirty thousand men from the Vale. With their forces set arrive at the city before Stannis'; Renly had determined to assault the city with thirty thousand men, leaving the other fifty thousand to await Stannis' arrival.

It had been at Margaery's request that command of the assault be granted to Baelor Hightower over Ser Loras. Her reasoning for this was twofold. Firstly, assaulting city walls was always dangerous, and she would much rather lose Hightower than her brother, and secondly, it had been his price for remaining with Renly's army. She had gone to him herself to encourage him to stay true and his reply had been blunt.

"I will command the assault, or I will leave. It will be confirmed tonight, in the war council, or tomorrow I will follow Florent and Estermont."

The choice of Randyll Tarly to command the forces awaiting Stannis had been Renly's. The man was widely accepted as one of the five finest commanders and soldiers remaining in the Kingdoms, and was nearly always seen as second, if not first. He would be facing a force commanded by two others who were considered amongst those five, Stannis himself and Bronze Yohn Royce. The other two, Tywin Lannister and the Blackfish, were busy in the Riverlands. She only hoped it would be enough.

As the army set out the following day, she was instructed to remain at the camp, with a guard of one hundred Tyrell men. Their commander was Ser Guyard Morrigen, the Green, of the Rainbow Guard. He approached her after the main force had departed.

"Your Grace, the King has left me orders to take you back to Highgarden should the battle go ill. He has also named me as your personal champion and shield."

"I'm sure you will be an exemplar of knightly qualities Ser."

"I shall try my Queen. If you will excuse me, I must send out scouts to watch the road."

With her blessing, he turned and strode away. He was quite handsome really, tall and strong, were she not married she would have pounced on him there and then. But she was, so she didn't. All the same, she was tempted.

_Davos_

The Stark forces had reached Saltpans the day after they had. Robb Stark had appeared before the King and bent his knee, followed by all his Lords Bannermen. Ser Brynden Blackfish had knelt for the Tullys as Ser Edmure had remained at Riverrun, to be with his ailing father and keep supply lines open, as well as distracting Tywin Lannister. On the subject of Lord Tywin, there had been no word, no-one knew if he was still at Harrenhal or had moved on. Despite this lack of knowledge, Stannis was keen to press on to King's Landing. His brother Renly had eighty thousand men and was closer to the city than they were, and the King planned to force a march and storm their flank while they were occupied with the assault. He judged that with his Crownlanders numbering only a couple of thousand, they would form the reserve under the command of Lord Celtigar. The Valesmen, as yet unbloodied in the war, would form the centre under the command of Bronze Yohn, while the Northerners took the left and the Riverlords the right, commanded by Lord Stark and the Blackfish respectively. With the arrival of these forces, Stannis' army had more than doubled in size and sixty-five thousand men now marched under his banner.

The army had been on the move for two days at a forced pace, and were only two days from King's Landing at regular marching speed, so Stannis had reduced their speed accordingly. Davos rode next to Shireen, behind Stannis and Lord Stark. The two had been talking tactics for hours, mostly on the forces at Lannister disposal, their captives and the like. Davos had spent most of this time talking to Shireen or Lord Celtigar, but now he listened in on their conversation.

"You see you grace, I am betrothed to Lady Roslin Frey, and cannot marry your daughter, but my youngest brother Rickon is closer to the Princess' age. He is a little wild, but a nice lad, and clever. I have sent north for some more cavalry, commanded by Ser Marlon Manderly, Rickon will be accompanying them, so you will meet him soon, your grace." He said this last over his shoulder to Shireen.

"I hope you understand, Lord Stark, that your brother's betrothal is subject to my ultimate approval. You must see that, as my daughter is my heir, Rickon will be her Prince Consort and his children will one day sit on the Iron Throne? I cannot allow my daughter to wed someone unworthy." The King's reply was quiet, but forceful.

"No fear on that account, your grace, we'll straighten him out."

Stannis quickly changed the subject, "Any news of Lord Karstark and his pillagers?"

"He writes that he has razed the Golden Tooth, and sent thirty wagons laden with gold back to Riverrun along with Lord Lefford's daughter Alysanne. As they left the Tooth, they were beset by Ser Amory Lorch and a column of Lannister men. Lord Karstark reports that Ser Amory's head now decorates the Tooth's walls. Ser Wendel Manderly took a wound and is returning to Riverrun with command of the escorting forces for the gold and prisoners. Lord Karstark is leading the rest of his men deeper into Lannister territory, with his eyes set on Ashemark."

"On the subject of captives, your uncle tells me you have brought Willem and Martyn Lannister with you."

"Yes, and Ser Artos Brax, the rest we left at Riverrun, under the protection of Ser Edmure. We had hoped to deal a hostage exchange with Tywin."

"You may get such an agreement, but not in exchange for your mother or sisters, the Lannisters know that as long as they hold them, they have an advantage over you."

"I feared as much, but surely we can regain some of my bannermen's kin? I had hoped to offer Ser Artos in exchange for Robin Flint. There are others also, such as Lord Medger Cerwyn and Rickard Ryswell."

"I cannot say whether they will accept, Lord Stark, but they are your prisoners, you may make such offers as you wish."

"Thank you, your grace."

Davos was impressed that they were getting on so well. He only hoped that it would last.

_Kevan_

The city was as ready as it was going to be. The only thing left was to keep training the troops. Somehow, he doubted that either Renly or Stannis would be waiting to try and starve the city into submission, so had focussed his energies on repelling the inevitable attack. He had had news from Lancel; that a combined fleet bearing the banners of Baratheon, Arryn and Manderly had sailed past Dragonstone, totally ignoring the Lannister-held castle. That could only mean one thing; Stannis and Robb Stark had made common cause, and that made the situation even worse. His forces in the capital had next to no chance of repelling Renly's forces, but now that Stannis was descending upon them as well, there chances were not getting better. Should the Stark and Tully armies march on King's Landing with Stannis, then Tywin would be free to reinforce the city.

Having realised this, he had quickly penned a letter requesting that his brother lead his host east to repel the attacks of the Baratheon brothers. As he went to the raven chamber, he found a young Lannister guardsman frantically tying a letter to a bird's leg, the man appeared to panic at his arrival.

"What have you got there lad?" Kevan tried to be gentle with him; he could only have been fifteen, one of the new recruits, desperate for pay and food.

"I was bid to, that is I," he stumbled over his words and his gaze rested on the floor.

"Pass me the letter boy. Ah, the Queen's seal. I do remember giving specific instructions that no-one was to speak to her."

"She promised me gold, to feed my mother and sisters."

"Well, she lied, she has no gold to give you, all her personal wealth has been confiscated to help pay for the cleaning up of her mistakes. You are dismissed."

As the lad turned to go, Kevan called out to him. The young soldier turned and Kevan threw him a small bag. When he looked inside, his eyes lit up, then looked back at the Lord Regent.

"My Lord, I don't understand."

"Hush for now lad, but tomorrow, you go down to the armourer, and get the sigil of House Lannister of Dragonstone on your shield, I'll take up your transfer of employment with Lord Tyrion, go on."

"Thank you, my lord."

As he watched the lad run off, with his bag of silver, Kevan could not help but think that he could well be dead within the week. Sobered by this thought, he opened Cersei's letter.

_Dear Lord Father,_

_It is with grave sadness that I write to you on this matter of your brother and son's betrayal of our cause. Tyrion has sent our loyal servant Lord Slynt to the Wall, and put your man Pycelle in the black cells. Ser Kevan's treachery surprised me more however, as he marched into the Throne Room as Eddard Stark once did. He slew bold Ser Meryn, who died defending the King and his men have butchered loyal Sandor Clegane, who even now barely breathes. He has even forsaken our family sigil, taking arms of his own, and claiming that you gave him Dragonstone. I have not been allowed to see either of my sons and with our enemies closing in around us, I fear for the safety of our King._

_To this end, my lord, in my capacity as rightful Regent, I demand that you return to help defend the city from these traitors, both inside and out._

_The Queen Regent_

He smiled. His letter requesting Tywin's aid had already gone, as had the one explaining the bloody take over he and Tyrion had been forced to enact, this letter would do Cersei no good. It was to that end that he finished tying it to the raven, and let the bird fly. Lord Tywin would not appreciate being ordered around by his disappointing daughter, and a little anger on his part may well totally isolate Cersei for good.

As he walked back to his chambers, he contemplated the new Kingsguard. He had visited Sandor Clegane himself, who, despite Cersei's letter, was almost good as new, and trained with the other men in the yard daily. The man had seemed almost happy to be rid of his white cloak. He had been replaced by Ser Balon Swann, a knight of the Stormlands. Ser Meryn's place in the Kingsguard, and that of the newly removed Boros Blount, had been harder to fill. In the end, he had brought Sers Robert Brax and Steffon Stackspear to his chambers.

"Lord Regent, to what do we owe the pleasure?" Robert smiled easily, whereas Steffon hardly ever did.

"I know what you are, Sers."

"What we are?"

"Your preferences regarding your nocturnal adventures into each other's rooms."

"Do you wish to condemn us like the others, my lord? My father made me leave Hornvale when he found out what I was."

"No. I am offering you a chance to continue, unmolested by society for your desires, and free from the pressures of matrimony. Gentlemen, you are both fine swordsmen, and the King finds himself in need of two new white cloaks."

The smile on Steffon's face told him all he needed to know.

_Theon_

He had shown them all. Winterfell was his; he was a Prince, with a mighty castle to show for it. The greatest castle of the North, taken by twenty men! A great triumph by any reckoning. He even had the cripple captive. The only disappointment was that Rickon and Ser Rodrik were not there. Maester Luwin had talked eventually, after he had let Dagmer loose on him. The young lad and old knight were bound for White Harbour, where they would join a Manderly reinforcement column and march south to join Stannis. Most interesting of all was that the stubborn pretender had, apparently consented to wed his daughter to the little wolf.

King Balon had been very specific, raid the Stony Shore, but now the old man would be proud of him, especially when Asha's men arrived from Deepwood Motte. He had felt some regret at turning on Robb, but all that was gone now, he was Ironborn and drowned. What is dead may never die, he told himself. I have risen again, harder and stronger.

_Rickard_

Ashemark was a tough nut to crack. The Tooth had been easy, and Lady Alysanne had yielded as soon as she saw his men approach, but Lord Damon Marbrand was made of sterner stuff. They had held out for four days now, but no matter, they would break soon. He had given the order for the attack to begin at midnight.

As he sat astride his horse, Lord Rickard Karstark looked across his lines, not all honest northmen, but enough for the job. That was when he heard the horn. Wheeling his horse, he felt a blow to his shoulder, as if hit by a stone. The impact made him lean over, and the weight of his armour pulled him from his horse. As he struggled to rise, he saw the arrow dug in just below his left shoulder. He heard the shouts and saw the banners. Three golden lion heads, a white badger and a blue cockerel. He knew he should have sent scouts to the south. Bellowing, he charged forward on foot. He heard nothing but the clash of steel and the screams of the dying. A man stood before him and was cut down. Another arrow took him, this time in the gut, but still he fought.

"TO ME NORTHMEN! TO ME! THE KING IN THE NORTH!"

He couldn't see his men, only the enemy. If a man stood before him, he died. He lost count of how many fell to his greatsword. When the spear was shoved through his leg, he went down on one knee, dropping his blade. As another western coward advanced on him, he threw his dagger. It stuck in the man's eye. The blow to his head came quickly, and the world went black.

As Rickard Karstark came to, he found himself face-down in the blood-soaked shit of the battlefield. His head was pounding, and for the first time he regretted his choice not to wear a helmet into battle. When he attempted to stand, he felt a pair of hands haul him up to his knees. His chin was forcefully directed upwards until he was facing a short, hairy man with a white badger on his suspiciously blood-free surcoat. The man's beard was long, and the same colour as his sigil, despite him having the face of one who had only just passed his thirtieth nameday.

"You are Rickard Karstark, Lord of Karhold." His voice was deep and gruff. All Rickard could think, was how apt his sigil was.

"Who the fuck are you?" he managed to croak, "and what shit-stained hell did they drag you up from?"

"I am Lord Lewys Lydden of Deep Den, and it is you who is going to hell. You should always send out patrols, my lord. Now then, you will bend the knee. To King Joffrey of the Houses Baratheon and Lannister."

"If you think I'm doing that scum, you can stick that standard of yours up your arse." Mustering up all he could, he spat on the floor by Lord Lydden's horse.

"Very well then, finish him."

The blade slid between his plates into his back. The bastards turned away and left him. He fell to th ground, and as he lay there staring emptily at the sky, he could only think of how he had cut down Amory Lorch, and how the man had squealed for mercy before he had slid his knife into his crotch. This memory amused him somewhat. As he laughed, he felt the blood rise through his throat. The last thing he saw was the sun beginning to rise, and a blood-stained Lannister standard. The bastards got him in the end, but damn, he had a good run.


	14. Chapter 14: Battle of King's Landing

_NOTE - Here it is, the much anticipated mother-of-all scraps. We have three sides vying for control of King's Landing - Stannis, Renly, and Joffrey. As with the previous chapter, this will be divided into many POVs from different characters, to give a broader view of the battle as it unfolds. Some of these will be mere snapshots, others longer. Hope you enjoy, favourite, follow and review! All constructive criticism welcome and any suggestions for later POVs, just PM me their name.  
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_**Chapter 14 - Battle of King's Landing**_

_Baelor_

He had personally accompanied the battering ram to the city gates, and now joined his men at the bars, beating it upon the King's Gate. He had always found that his men fought that much harder when he suffered the same risks they did. Granted, it was more dangerous than sitting on a horse well behind the lines as King Renly was now doing, but Ser Baelor Brightsmile preferred to see his enemy as he cut them down. Men said he was violent, but he found that to be more use than not, especially in situations such as this.

"Just one more lads, and then we can go in and fuck them up their arses!"

As the gate groaned, he thought briefly of the men that he had sent over the wall on ladders. Without the protective shell of the ram, those men would suffer heavy losses.. He found he didn't have time to dwell on their fate before the gate caved in.

"On lads!On! Kill the bastards!" He loved battles, especially sieges, with all the chaos and blood. He charged through the King's Gate a the head of his men, cutting down the mixture of Gold Cloaks and Lannisters who were stupid enough to stand in his way. He disarmed one man and kicked his legs from underneath him. As he bore down on the soldier, he heard him scream,

"No ser, please ser, I didn't want to fight, they made me -"

Baelor's sword cleaved through the man's neck and as he died, his bowels released. Wrinkling his nose inside his helmet he remembered something King Robert had said to him when they compared battle stories at a banquet many years ago. "They never tell you how they all shit themselves." How right he had been.

Blood dripping from his sword, he led his men on. As they cleared the yard around the gate, another party of Lannisters turned the corner. No more than fifty, no match for his group or the huge numbers of men now pouring through the King's Gate. Baelor turned his focus to the man leading the party, a knight in the yellow and purple of House Peckledon. The man was older than Baelor, but looked very capable. Relishing the challenge, Baelor pointed at the man and beckoned. Then he charged, sword raised. An animalistic roar ripped from his throat but was soon drowned out by the answer from the men behind him. The knights steel flashed, but Baelor cut him down without breaking stride. So much for the challenge, but the bloodlust was on him and the red mist had descended.

_Kevan_

The Hightower men had reached the walls, and the King's Gate had been overrun. His friend Ser Ronan had led a company to reinforce the gates defenders but there had been no word. Kevan had pulled back from his position above the gate to Fishmonger's Square, taking the King and Prince Tommen with him. The two of them had totally different reactions. Joffrey wanted to withdraw all the way to the Red Keep, while Tommen argued that they should be moving towards the fight not away. Kevan had brooked no argument, and they had followed. Of the Kingsguard, only Sers Robert Brax and Steffon Stackspear remained with the King. The others were leading various sections of troops across the city. Ser Balon had ridden off only ten minutes ago to take command on the Street of Steel, in order to lead the men there around behind the attacking troops, recapture the gate and cut the Hightowers off. Ser Lyle and the Hound, somehow since the fight in the Throne Room, they had become friends, if a Clegane was capable of having a friend, and the two of them now commanded the troops trying to hold back the invaders at the King's Gate.

"Lord Regent!" the shout came from one of the towers near the command post, "You'll want to see this."

He ran up the tower with the King and Prince following. As he reached the top, he turned to the man who'd shouted, "What am I looking at man?"

"There my lord, banners on the Kingsroad."

As Kevan looked he saw banners bearing the fox of Florent and the turtle of Estermont, and his stomach jumped to his mouth.

"They're Renly's men!" Joffrey shouted, "He's tried to outflank us!"

"No," Kevan replied, "Our spies told us that Lords Florent and Estermont abandoned Renly due to his slow progress nearly two weeks ago."

"Well they're here now, you old fool!"

"Silence please, your grace. These Lords must have declared for Stannis, how they got around us I'll never know." he turned away from the enemy and shouted down to the courtyard, "Send for reinforcements to hold this gate against the enemy, all those who can fight, get up here now."

The enemy must have numbered six thousand. He could not hold the gate very long, but once reinforcements arrived from the inner city, they should be able to hold pretty easily. The attackers had no ram, only ladders, which meant they were vulnerable.

"Archers! Draw! Aim! Loose!" The hail began on the enemy, many staggered and fell, but more carried on. As the first ladder reached the wall, Joffrey said,

"I shouldn't be here, I must return to the Keep."

Kevan whirled and grabbed the young man by the pauldron, "You are going nowhere. These next few minutes are crucial, if we hold, then they will not enter, and you can go down once the reinforcements arrive, if not, these men will enter the city and you will die anyway. Stand boy! Your brother isn't afraid," he gestured to where little Tommen stood, sword drawn, a look of grim determination on his face, "If you run and he stands, how will it look? They'll abandon because you ran when a twelve year old stood. You have your Kingsguard, you'll be fine."

Then they reached the top of the wall. Kevan did his best to stay close to Joffrey, but the melee swept them apart. He stood, defending a two man stretch with Tommen beside him. He slammed the pommel of his sword into the face of the first man up the ladder before turning and shoulder barging another man off the ladder to the ground. If they held just a little longer, they could defeat them, not much longer, not much longer.

_Davos_

The city was on fire. Even in the darkness of night, there was light enough to see the chaos that ruled the capital. All down the road for the last four hours, they had smelt the smoke. Now, Stannis's army was preparing to take the field. They were lining up opposite Renly's forces outside the city, while their fleet moved in on the city, ready to deposit more soldiers upon the river bank. He however, remained behind with the Princess, Ser Andros and a group of fifty Baratheon men, with strict orders to take the Princess to safety if necessary. He could see Stannis riding out ahead of his men, leading from the front as always.

"They won't kill him will they?" Shireen's voice was barely a whisper.

"Your father is a mighty warrior, and a better general, he's got more chance than anyone else in this fight."

Over on the left flank, Lord Stark and his northerners were lined up to flank Lord Tarly's men. His wolf ran out in front of them, trotting up and down the line as if filled with nervous energy. Davos sincerely hoped he wouldn't need to take Shireen away. With all his heart.

_Robb_

As they crashed into the enemy, Grey Wind launched himself at the throat of the nearest man, while Robb ducked under the blow of another before barreling into him, using the weight of his armour and the momentum of the charge. He was in the midst of them, cutting men down as they stood. Granted a brief respite by the flow of the battle, he noticed that their ploy seemed to be working and Tarly had committed his men against just the Starks and Valesmen. As he took a quick break, he could see Stannis plunging into combat, bearing the bright sword his fire priestess had given him before he had arrested her and had her killed. He came around just in time to block the blow from a huge sword, wielded by an equally impressive knight. Robb was immediately on the back foot, but he desperately parried and dodged long enough for one of his men to embed a sword in the knight's stomach. As he pressed on, he spared a quick thought for his uncle Blackfish, hoping his mission was proceeding well. 

_Tyrion_

He led the reinforcements to the River Gate himself, but hardly made it to the Muddy Way by the time he met his uncle Kevan retreating. His uncle was brusque,

"Tyrion, get the King back to the Keep. I'll take these men. Go!"

"Where is he?" He asked, but then he saw. Sers Robert and Steffon were carrying the King upon a stretcher made from two spears and some cloaks. The King was out cold, and bleeding from a large cut to the head. Tyrion immediately had two of his Gold Cloaks take the wounded King, while ordering the two Kingsguard to remain with Tommen. The Kingsguard assigned to Tyrion, Ser Mandon, would accompany the wounded boy. As Kevan caught a brief respite, Tyrion approached him,

"What happened?"

"The Florents and Estermonts. They assaulted the River Gate. We had no warning. Joffrey wanted to run, but I made him stay for fear of being shown up by his little brother. He's like that because of me. I have failed, Tyrion."

"Not yet, we're not done yet. We still hold the northern and western quarters do we not?"

"Yes but for how long? Our forces have taken a battering, we lost the King's Gate and we've heard nothing from Lyle and the Hound. Ser Ronan and Commander Jacelyn have disappeared and we can't hold this gate for much longer. We must withdraw to the Keep. Get the King out on a ship while we can. Tyrion, I am ordering you to take as many of your men as you can and the King and your sister and take them to Dragonstone. Take command from Lancel, I will deal with the surrender and send a raven so my son expects you."

"How long will we be safe there?"

"Not long, but long enough for your father to attack whichever Baratheon survives. Go! Take the Stark girl with you, and Tommen."

As he and Tommen ran off, he heard Kevan gather his knights and order a return to the wall. Tyrion would get them to safety, and if he should be captured, then damn them all. 

_Brynden_

He had waited his turn, as instructed. He had watched as Stannis and Robb engaged Tarly all across his front and , as predicted, the Reachlord had left his flank open. Brynden shook his head. For a man rumoured to be the best soldier in the realm it was a disappointing mistake, and it would cost him. Now that Tarly was fully committed it was time for the Rivermen to play their part. They had marched away from the fight against Renly's forces, carrying ladders and headed for the city walls near the Dragon Gate. Here they had been joined by Ser Wylis Manderly and his men from the fleet, who had landed just up the coast. Now they returned to the main battle, totally ignoring the Lannisters on the walls. He lined his cavalry up at the front before sounding the charge. Twenty thousand men crashed into Lord Tarly's flank, an armoured juggernaut that wreaked absolute havoc amongst the enemy, none of whom had expected the attack. Ser Brynden, lightly armoured as usual, vaulted from his saddle, longsword in one hand, dirk in the other. He crashed into two men-at-arms, running them through before they could rise. With his dirk in an underhand grip and his longsword held up high, he carved a bloody swathe through the enemy, with little regard for whether his men were keeping up with him. He slashed at a face that appeared in front of him, kicked the man to the ground and moved on. Sword, dirk, sword, dirk his fighting became almost rhythmic. Becoming dimly aware of a great form approaching ahead of him, he looked up in time to see Bronze Yohn swinging his greatsword, laughing like a maniac. Soaked in blood from head to toe, he knew the man had been in the thick of it, but now the old juggernaut seemed to be tiring. Brynden took up position at his side and the two continued the slaughter without sharing a word. 

_Randyll_

Damn the Blackfish. Damn him to all seven hells. But most of all, Randyll Tarly cursed himself at missing such a simple ruse.

"Stand and fight, cowards!" he bellowed, "I'll see you hang!"

He continued to hack away at the northerners, Heartsbane slicing through plate and mail alike, until one of his men grabbed him from behind. Turnign, blade raised he saw his son Dickon.

"Father, we must withdraw, our men cannot hold. The King is sounding the retreat, listen!"

Sure enough, floating over the screams of the dying was the sound of the great war horn that had accompanied them on campaign, and had been sounded as the signal to begin the attack. Sighing, he turned back to fight and bellowed, "Pull back! Pull back to the King!"

He hated turning from a fight. He had thought that Stannis was no match for his brother Robert, and he had beaten Robert in the Rebellion. His arrogance had cost his King the battle and the city, and put Stannis in a much stronger position. They would have to pull back to Storm's End or Highgarden, neither of which he was over fond of. With that last thought, he vaulted onto the horse his son had brought him and rode off back to the command post. He would kill the Blackfish for this, and Stannis too. As he rode, he spared a brief thought for Baelor Hightower and his men inside the city, but there was little he could do. 

_The Hound_

Sandor Clegane staggered through the streets, hindered by his own wounded leg and the unconscious form of Ser Lyle Crakehall. The great oaf had tried to take on the entire Hightower army alone, and it had taken everything he had to retrieve the fool's noble frame. Knights, he scoffed, fucking idiots. He made for the Red Keep, struggling with the body until he ran into some Gold Cloaks who took the Strongboar from him. By the time he reached the Keep, there was utter chaos. He grabbed a passing guardsman,

"What the fuck is going on?"

The man was obviously petrified, but managed to get out the words, "Joffrey's gone, Ser Kevan has command, he wants all knights in the throne room."

"I am no knight." He decided, but headed there all the same.

Upon his entrance, he was greeted by the Regent.

"Sandor Clegane, we heard you were dead, but I am glad to be misinformed. I need you to go with Tyrion and the King," he leaned in and whispered, "Keep an eye on Lady Sansa, see that Joffrey does not mistreat her, should he recover."

He stared at the man, _should he recover_. This did not bode well. But then, Hounds should follow without question.

NOTE - and that's where I'm going to leave it. Any questions will be answered in the next chapters. Hope you enjoyed.


	15. Chapter 15: Davos V

_NOTE - Thanks for the great responses_ _everyone. This one returns to the one POV per chapter format. Kevan meets Stannis for the first time - and it won't be the last. This chapter features a lot of politicking and cleaning up after the mess everyone's made of King's Landing. Hope you enjoy. As usual, PM with any criticism, POV requests or ideas. Favourite, Follow, Review.  
_

_Davos_

It had worked. Stannis' plan had worked. Renly had pulled back and the Lannisters were holed up in the Red Keep. Davos had ridden into the city with Shireen and the reserve column not long after Renly had fled the field. He had taken most of his forces with him, though the Hightower troops in the city had been trapped and forced to surrender. When Bronze Yohn cut down Baelor Brightsmile, the fight had gone from most of them, yet even now Baratheon, Tully, Arryn and Stark troops were engaged in a brutal hit-and-run battle in the streets of the capital, against both Lannister and Hightower men.

When the King's Hand and the Princess rode up to Stannis' new command post atop Visenya's Hill, just outside the Sept of Baelor, the King, Lord Stark and the Blackfish were meeting with Lords Estermont and Florent, who knelt before him.

"You rode with Renly, swore your men to him, despite him being a usurper to my _rightful _claim? Lord Estermont, you are my mother's brother, and you Lord Florent, are my wife's uncle. I expected your allegiance, and now you come crawling before me having betrayed the man you swore to serve. He may have been the wrong man, but that makes you oathbreakers none the less. The penalty for that is death."

The two men remained on their knees, heads bowed and silent.

"Your Grace," Lord Stark spoke, "these men risked defeat and death to claim this city for you. Without their attack on the River Gate, the Lannister's would have been able to meet us at the Gate of the Gods, and ore men would have died. More loyal men." He directed this last at the two kneeling lords, with more than a little icy contempt in his voice.

Davos saw what he was doing, and promptly joined the appeal. "Your Grace, if you kill them then no Stormlanders will ever join you, nor will the Reach. Now Renly has suffered a defeat there will be desertions. The Lannisters are weakened too, these new deserters can only side with you. Show mercy my King, and they will owe you forever."

"Very well then," Stannis growled, "Rise my lords, you have my thanks for your efforts, but remember who your King is. Now go and see to your men."

As the two men rose, bowed and walked away, Stannis beckoned to Davos, "It is time for us to deal with our prisoners. Come."

He followed the King into the Sept. He had only been inside once before, and had forgotten the sheer scale of Blessed Baelor's creation. Everything was in sevens. Seven doors, seven towers, seven seating areas, and the ceiling, well, Davos could hardly see the ceiling.

In the middle of the sept knelt, fittingly, seven men. Their armour was rent and blood-spattered, and they all looked exhausted. Stannis approached them and asked a captain for their names.

"These six were with Renly your grace. Ser Desmond Redwyne, Lord Martyn Mullendore, Lord Tommen Costayne and Sers Garth, Gunthor and Humfrey Hightower."

Stannis came to the Hightowers first, "Your brother Ser Baelor is dead. That means that you Ser Garth, are your father's heir. Correct?"

"Yes, your grace."

"You will write your father and all of you except Ser Desmond will sign. Inform Lord Leyton that he will declare Oldtown for me, and I will return his two of his sons to him. Ser Humfrey, you will remain with my forces to command the remaining men of your house. The rest of you will join your liege lord in declaring your houses for me and you will lend your support to my cause. Refuse to do this, and I will not hesitate to have your heads off."

Next the King turned to Ser Desmond Redwyne, "Ser, you will write to your cousin Lord Paxter and inform him that he will do likewise for the Arbor, or you will face the same."

"Your Grace, I am only a distant cousin, my lord will most like not change his side to get me back, though a ransom would be more acceptable to his mind."

"I care not Ser, you will write, and you will be returned, but only once the Arbor has demonstrated its loyalty."

He then turned to the last man and asked, "I know who you are, Sandor Clegane. How did my men capture the infamous Hound?"

"Bastards clubbed me from behind as I headed to the docks. I was slowed by my cargo. Where is the Strongboar?"

"Captain?"

The captain responded quickly, "Dog here was carrying Ser Lyle through the Street of Steel. Our men knocked him unconscious and brought him here, while taking Ser Lyle to the maesters."

"There you go Clegane. Now tell me, why aren't you with Joffrey right now?"

"Lord Kevan ordered me to hold the Gate against those fucking Hightowers didn't he? He kicked me out of the Kingsguard, thank fuck, and put me in charge of holding that shitting gate. Then he ordered me to go to the King, and I took the Strongboar with me." He spat, narrowly missing Stannis' boot.

"Yet you failed. I doubt your brother will pay a ransom for you, so why should I keep you alive?"

"Gregor would kill you and pick his teeth with your pretty crown, and your shorthanded Hand, and your wolf lord and trout knight, even old Runelord Royce. Keep me alive, and I will kill him for you. Send me to the Riverlands, and I'll find him and bring you back his head."

"What of your friend the Strongboar? You would leave him to die?

"He's worth a decent ransom, and his father would pay. My brother has little wealth, and wouldn't spend it on me. Let me kill the fucker myself, or kill me now and be done."

"I will think on your offer Sandor Clegane." He turned now to the captain, "Take them below, we'll keep them here until the castle is ours."

Davos had remained silent throughout the exchange, but his mind was busy. If the Hightowers sided with Stannis, then a sizeable portion of the Reach's man power would also join him. Houses Mullendore, Beesbury, Costayne, Cuy and Bulwer owed allegiance to Oldtown and Lord Leyton. This would rob Renly of yet more of his supporters, and Lord Leyton was not like to refuse. If he did, Stannis would execute his sons, which meant that when the old man died, Oldtown and the Hightower would pass to his daughter Malora, and Mace Tyrell would claim the town. Malora was named the "Mad Maid" and Mace would claim the Hightower through this madness an his marriage to Leyton's next eldest daughter Alerie. No, Leyton would not refuse. Of Lord Paxter Redwyne, Davos was less certain. The man was Mace's cousin, and wed to his sister Mina. And both of his sons, Sers Horas and Hobber had escaped the fighting. Only Ser Desmond had been captured, and he was only a distant relation. Paxter would most like leave him to rot. It was Desmond that Davos felt most sorry for. As for the Hound's promise, Davos found such hatred towards his own kin disturbing, though it could never had been said that he had got on with his mother. That was the reason he had volunteered as a cabin boy on _Cobblecat_.

He accompanied the King and the high lords to the parley with the remaining Lannister leaders, held just outside the Red Keep's mighty gates. The Hightowers had got even this far apparently as evidenced by the numerous corpses that had fallen with arrows in them.

Ser Kevan Lannister awaited them, with Sers Addam Marbrand and Balon Swann of the Kingsguard. Swann in particular looked as if he had been in the thick of the fighting, with his armour dented and cloak stained red and brown and shredded.

"Ser Kevan, I am here to accept your surrender, where are the King and the Queen Regent?"

"They are not here my lord. They took a ship when we realised we could no longer hold them back. But I am the Regent, not Cersei, so I am entitled to treat with you."

"Will you withdraw Joffrey's claim?"

"No."

"Then you have no use to me."

"Only as a hostage, your grace."

Lord Stark had obviously had enough, "Where are my sisters, Lannister?"

"Where are my sons, Stark?"

Stannis growled again, "Answer him Ser."

"Sansa is with the King, Cersei, Tommen and Tyrion on a ship."

"Headed where?"

"That I do not know. I told them to go, I left the where to Tyrion. Arya, I do not know. Cersei said she had her, but I arrived from taking Dragonstone to find that she was not here. Your sisters are not here, Lord Stark. Where are my sons?"

"Captives with my men, unharmed."

"For that I thank you. Now your grace, I hope we can proceed with the formalities, I wish to see my boys."

"Indeed. You will surrender the castle and all its inhabitants. Highborns will be treated fairly and ransomed back to their families, or exchanged for support. The Gold Cloaks will be placed at my command, as will all troops remaining under your command. I will write to your brother with terms. I hope you enjoy your custody, Ser Kevan. You will accompany us around the Keep before you and your sons are confined to quarters."

"Will I be allowed to stay with them?"

"No. But you will be able to see them once a day."

"Very well. I surrender the Keep to you Lord Stannis."

"I am the King, Ser Kevan."

"And I am the Lord of Dragonstone. I will continue to call you a lord until my King tells me otherwise."

Davos could feel Stannis tense up at this remark and he leant forward, "Let it go your grace, he will bow before the end."

That evening, he went to make sure Shireen was settled in to her new apartments. The Princess had been given what had been Myrcella's rooms, while Davos himself occupied the Imp's old rooms in the Tower of the Hand.

"My lady? May I come in?"

She put her head around the door and beckoned him in.

"Lord Davos, father said that Rickon Stark is due in the capital before the week is out. He has recieved a raven saying that he left the Twins two days ago. Im worried."

"What about, Princess?"

"I'm a monster, what will he say when he sees my face. He will hate me forever."

"No. Never. You may have scars, but you have a good honest heart and a kind soul. He my not see it immediately, but he will learn. They say the Starks never judge on looks anyway."

"But what if he does?"

"He won't. Now we have _both _been summoned to your royal father' solar for council, and after that, maybe you can ask to see Lord Stark and discuss young Rickon."

They rose together and headed to the King's solar.

Stannis had gathered all his leading lords, as well as numerous lesser commanders. In addition to the King himself, Davos and Shireen, Lords Stark, Bolton, Umber, Florent, Estermont, Velaryon, Celtigar, Royce and more had gathered. All four of Stannis' Kingsguard stood in the room, silent white knights, still as stone. The King began with the letter from the Twins.

"Ser Ryman writes that Ser Marlon Manderly and Rickon Stark, with their men, left the Twins two days ago."

"With your permission, your grace? Why is my son writing, and not my father?" Ser Stevron Frey, squeezed in at the back of the room, muscled his way forward to address the King.

"My Lord of Frey, your son writes -"

"My father is Lord Frey."

"No longer, Ser Ryman writes that Lord Walder passed away in his sleep the day after the Manderly column left the Twins. Stevron Frey, you are Lord of the Twins. Your son rules at your seat in your stead."

"Your Grace, may I have leave to depart?"

"Of course my lord."

The new Lord of the Crossing withdrew before anyone else could say a word.

Stannis watched him go before turning to the remaining men,

"More news from the Riverlands. Lord Hoster Tully has also died, and Lord Edmure writes that Ser Wendel Manderly has arrived at Riverrun with the captives from the Golden Tooth, with great plunder in gold and captives, including Lady Alysanne Lefford. He also reports that Lord Tywin is still sitting pretty at Harrenhal, though Gregor Clegane runs riot near Maidenpool. Most disturbingly however, is that a host of some six thousand has emerged from the Westerlands, under the banners of Houses Lydden, Swyft and Jast. Saddest of all this news was that the army also carried a soiled banner bearing the silver sunburst of Karstark.

"So he is dead then." The Blackfish broke the silence, "Someone should tell Harrion he is Lord of Karhold."

"I will do it," Lord Stark spoke up, "I sent his father off, I should do it, as soon as we're done here."

And so the details were passed through, until King Stannis turned his attention to his captives.

"Sandor Clegane will be released, I am taking up his offer of killing the Mountain. I am also sending a group of ten Lannister men with him to lend the plan some legitimacy."

Bronze Yohn stepped forward, "Your Grace, are you serious? He will betray you as soon as blink."

"I am not so sure," Davos voiced his thoughts, "his hatred for his brother runs deep."

"Either way, I am the King and I have decided to accept his offer. The hostage's fealty demands have been sent. Finally we find ourselves dealing with Ser Balon Swann. He tells me that his father, Lord Gulian, dared not oppose the rest of the Stormlands and the Reach, and though I do not approve, I understand. I know Ser Balon from when he was my squire after the Rebellion, he is an honest man. I am sending him to Lady Allyria at Blackhaven, whom he will wed and claim, through her, the lands which did belong to House Dondarrion."

"Your Grace, is that wise? This would give the Swanns ultimate control of the entirety of the Dornish Marches." Lord Estermont, old as he was, still possessed a sharp mind.

"Mayhaps not, but I need the Stormlords to abandon Stannis. The Swanns are the second most powerful house in the Stormlands, and with the acquisition of Blackhaven they will become stronger than the Baratheons."

"Why take power from your own house sire?"

"After Renly's betrayal, my own will no longer rule the Stormlands. If the Swanns accept my offer, then I will have control of the largest untouched army in the Stormlands. They did not march with Renly to this city, so their men are fresh. They will also be eternally indebted to me and mine, ensuring that the rightful Baratheon Kings will always be supported by the Stormlands. To cement this union I have offered to wed Lord Gulian's daughter Lara. Should I have a son by her, then that lad will be my heir to Storm's End, while Shireen will remain heir to the Iron Throne and Dragonstone."

This revelation stunned the assembled lords into silence. Lord Stark broke the silence, "You promised us that Rickon would be at Shireen's side as she ruled."

"I did and he will. Shireen is my heir and I will have her consecrated as heir by the High Septon in two days." The men spoke as if the Princess was not present and this irked Davos. He reached out to his side to touch her arm, to comfort her, but she was not there. He glanced around and found her sitting in a chair in the corner, staring at the floor, with Ser Andros Celtigar's hand on her shoulder.

He knew why the girl was crying, she had always wanted a younger brother or sister, and it had devastated her when her mother had died. Not the fact that Selyse was dead, but that she would never have siblings. She looked up at Davos and smiled, her lips tugging at the dead skin on her cheek. In that moment, Davos realised that he looked on her as a daughter. He had seven sons and had always wanted a daughter, so he had substituted the small, frightened girl who had no friends but an ancient maester and a fool, neither of whom had accompanied her from her island prison. Some would wonder why she was not angry at the idea of a new child stealing her inheritance, but Shireen had not a speck of jealousy in her. He would not see her harmed, never.


	16. Chapter 16: Jon

_NOTE \- This is a short one I know. It was brought to my attention that I have totally ignored Jon, Dany and Arya's story arcs so I thought I would address these failings. These will be updates really, with no great over-arcing ideas yet, I want to get back to the events in the South, but as these other areas are so important, I didn't feel I could ignore them any longer. Hope you enjoy. PM with any requests or suggestions. Favourite, Follow, Review. Once again, I own none of this (except the characters I invented), that honour goes to the mighty GRRM, long may he keep writing. Here's hoping the rumours let out by Nikolaj Coster-Waldau (hope I've spelt that right) are true, and that we'll see Winds of Winter out soon!_

_Jon_

We are the watchers on the wall, the sword in the darkness. Well, he was on the wall, he had a sword and it was bloody dark. Damn Ser Alliser. Damn his eyes. He'd learnt that Thorne had fought for the Mad King at the Trident, which explained his hatred of Ned Stark's bastard son. What the knight had done to be sent to the wall, when near every other Targaryen loyalist had been forgiven by King Robert, no-one knew, or wouldn't tell. Ser Alliser had put him on latrine duty and double watch - for being good with a sword. Jon may now have been the Old Bear's personal steward - a constant irritation - but he still had to train with the others. The Commander had been very specific on that point, all Night's Watchmen would take up compulsory training, no matter their role. This order had hit Sam the hardest, and it took all of Jon's strength to encourage him to turn up every day. However, Sam had proven to have a better eye for archery than the sword, so Thorne had placed him under the charge of Jarmen Buckwell, who kept him firing shafts at targets for three hours every day, before handing Tarly back to master-at-arms for another, doubtlessly doomed, attempt to get him to fight with a sword.

"Lord Snow!" Stoney Halder walked up to him from the stair, "The Old Bear wants you to attend him. I'm to take your watch."

"Enjoy it." As he descended the stair, Jon wondered why the Lord Commander could possibly want him at such an ungodly hour of the night. He was sure he would soon find out. As he approached Lord Mormont's chambers he saw Ghost raise his head from where he slept outside the window.

"Good boy." The dreams were coming to him more frequently now, and only two nights ago he had run, as Ghost, out through Castle Black and into the Gift looking for food.

He entered the chamber to find Lord Jeor Mormont sitting at his table reading a letter by candlelight.

"Get me ale, and one for yourself and sit down."

He did as the Old Bear commanded. Jeor may have been fast approaching his sixtieth nameday, if it had not passed already, but he was still the huge, mighty warrior who had fought on the Trident at the side of Robert Baratheon.

"Bad news from the South, Snow. Your brother is no longer King in the North."

Jon's heart lept to his throat, "What happened?"

"He bent the knee to Stannis Baratheon, along with all the Lords of the North and the Riverlands. They have combined their forces and are marching on King's Landing."

"That's the bad news?"

"Let me finish. In your brother's absence, Balon Greyjoy has crowned himself and his ships have attacked the North. They have taken Moat Cailin, Deepwood Motte, Torrhen's Square and Winterfell."

"How? Robb left Ser Rodrik as castellan, he would never lose it."

"He wasn't there. The news reached Winterfell that they were attacking Torrhen's Square and Ser Rodrik took as many men as possible to rescue it. When his men arrived, the krakens were still besieging the Square and they ran off like cowards rather than fight. Then he learnt that Winterfell had fallen to the Greyjoys. He immediately marched back and besieged Winterfell. As soon as he left, the Ironborn returned and took the Square."

"What about my little brothers."

"Rickon is at White Harbour. He will accompany the reinforcements led by some Manderly knight south. He is betrothed to Stannis' daughter after all. Of Brandon there is no word."

"We have to help them."

"The Night's Watch takes no part, lad. It gets worse though. Theon Greyjoy leads the Ironborn at Winterfell."

"That traitor! My father raised him as his own, Robb trusted him. He betrayed them both."

"I know lad."

"What are we going to do?"

"The Night's Watch takes no part. However, Ser Rodrik has offered us any and all Ironborn captives, including highborns. To that end, I am sending Ser Alliser Thorne with a group of men to collect these captives and escort them back to Castle Black. I would have preferred it to be your uncle Benjen, but as he is still missing -"

"Let me lead them ser, I'm ready."

"No. Ser Alliser will lead them. You will be going though, as will Grenn and Pyp."

"I will not follow Ser Alliser Thorne."

"You will do as you are commanded, and be bloody glad about it. I am the Lord Commander, not you. I chose who goes where at my command. If you ever want to lead, you must learn to follow, and this feud between you and that thrice-damned knight must end, now. Stoney Halder will take over your duties until you return. You are dismissed."

Two days later, Jon rode out at the back of the group of ten black-cloaked men, Ghost trotting at his side. He had been in a bad humour since his meeting with the Old Bear, and saw no signs of that improving, especially in the company of Alliser Thorne. Grenn and Pyp had tried to cheer him up, but to no avail.

"Cheer up, bastard. Mormont says I'm to put up with you, but I'll be damned if I'm going to like it." The knight's voice echoed back from the front of the group. I will kill him, Jon thought, I will kill him.


	17. Chapter 17: Arya

_NOTE - Another chapter of catchup, this time for Arya. I struggled a little with this one, as I did with Sansa. Maybe I just can't write from female POVs. Anyway I hope you enjoy, follow, favourite, review etc. Enjoy!  
_

_Arya_

She couldn't remember how long it had been since Amory Lorch and his cronies had dragged them to Harrenhal, since they'd killed Yoren and taken them captive. They had been kept in the pen with the other prisoners for over a week, narrowly avoiding the attentions of the Mountain and the Tickler. Gendry would have been next, had Lord Tywin not arrived with the bulk of his host. His lordship had not been impressed at the use of prisoners for pointless interrogation rather than work. It had been his intervention that had saved Gendry's life.

"You boy. Do you have a trade?"

"Smith, m'lord."

"You see?" Lord Tywin continued to admonish the Tickler until Polliver shouted at her,

"Kneel! Or I'll carve your lungs out boy."

Again, his lordship intervened, "You'll do no such thing. This one's a girl, you idiot. Put these prisoners to work, and bring the girl. I need a new cupbearer."

Since then she had served the Warden of the West, albeit grudgingly. He believed she was a stonemason's daughter from Barrowton. She had attended him at his council meetings and become familiar with his commanders, such as Lord Brax, who moaned that the Northmen had his sons, and old Lord Lefford, who had sworn to see them all hang for taking his daughter hostage and razing his castle. When the matter of Rickard Karstark's raids had been brought before the Lords of the West, Arya had struggled to hold back a cry of triumph.

"Lord Marbrand reports that a force of Northmen led by Lord Rickard Karstark have begun to rampage through the Westerlands. They have taken the Golden Tooth and invested Ashemark."

Lord Lefford had turned a special shade of purple, something that had amused Arya even further, and shouted, "My lord, we must respond at once. Is there word of my daughter Alysane?"

"Lord Damon writes that the Tooth was razed to the ground, with all valuables and hostages sent to Riverrun under guard."

"We must return and destroy them! Better yet, dispatch Ser Gregor to destroy Karstark, while we swing around and take Riverrun while the Young Wolf is in the Crownlands. Then we can reclaim my daughter and wealth."

"Peace Leo. They will be reclaimed in time, and Alysane will not be harmed. She is a wealthy heiress, worth more to them alive and whole than dead or damaged. I have instructed Lord Lydden to gather men from his own lands to deal with the raiders. He tells me that Lord Jast's cousin and castellan Ser Raynard and Ser Harys Swyft have pledged him troops. But while they deal with that, the King's war comes before your wealth. Once wealth has been lost to traitors, it can be retrieved through victory. Not so with lost wars."

Since then, Arya had become painfully aware of Lefford's eyes on her, a smouldering hatred burning in the sockets.

She went to bed every night in a cell she shared with Gendry, who had been assigned to the forge, and Hot Pie, who had, surprise surprsie, made his way into the kitchens. The days had taken on a monotonous pattern, she would rise, fetch Lord Tywin's breakfast and serve at his pleasure all day, then go to bed. She only saw the other two briefly at the end of the day, just before she said her prayer,

"Ser Gregor, Dunsen, Raff the Sweetling, Ser Ilyn, Ser Meryn, Queen Cersei, Amory Lorch. Valar Morghulis." The others had learnt not to question it.

One night, when Gendry was late returning, Hot Pie told her that he was looking after a serving girl named Pia after some Lannister soldiers had had their way with her. Arya didn't know why, but she was jealous, maybe because Hot Pie said she was so beautiful, while she was just Arya Horseface.

Then she had met Jaqen H'ghar again and he had made his promise, "A girl owes three. A man will give a girl three." That number had been reduced to one now, she now owed one. Weese and the Tickler had died unnoticed, or so it had seemed.

"You girl!" she recognised the caller as a man of Lord Tywin's guard. She knew them all, and they knew her. "His lordship requires you. He has company."

"Who?" she shouted back, "Is it another war council?"

"Nah, a woman. Some noble Northern piece."

These men talked too much and too easily, and Arya had learnt to use it to her advantage. As she entered Lord Tywin's solar, the man looked up and said, "Ah girl, here you are. Fetch the lady some wine."

The woman facing Tywin Lannister turned, and Arya gasped. Though there were streaks of grey in her auburn hair, and more wrinkles on her cheeks, Arya easily recognised her mother. Lady Catelyn ran over to her and embraced her.

"Arya, my child. Did they hurt you? Are you well? Where is Sansa?"

Lord Tywin's smug expression was priceless, though Arya did catch a glimpse of shock crossing his face. "You thought you'd convinced me Arya? Your noble accent gave you away, that and the fact that you bear a striking similarity to both your father and your aunt Lyanna. Guard, take the Ladies Stark to Lady Catelyn's chamber, see that they want for nothing."

Once they were locked in, Arya rounded on her mother, "What were you doing? He had no idea who I was until you gave me away! NOw he'll send me back to the Queen and -" She broke off when she saw her mother's tears.

"Lord Tywin was telling me that Theon Greyjoy has taken Winterfell. There is no word of Bran or Rickon, Robb is marching on King's Landing with Stannis, and I've heard nothing of Sansa. I thought you were dead Arya! I'm sorry that I couldn't control myself, but I had just found out tat two more of my children are possibly dead, and then you appear - the one I was sure was dead, and you're alive! I assumed that he would know you were here. I'm so sorry."

Arya had never seen her mother like this before, and had no idea how to respond, other than to join her on the bed and embrace her. Before long, it sunk i. _Theon Greyjoy has taken Winterfell_. As her mother slept she said the prayer,

"Ser Gregor, Dunsen, Raff the Sweetling, Ser Ilyn, Ser Meryn, Queen Cersei, Amory Lorch, Theon Greyjoy. Valar Morghulis."

They spent the next day telling each other how they had come to be in Harrenhal. Lady Catelyn told her how she had been to the capital, been on campaign with Robb in the Riverlands and brokered his betrothal to Roslin Frey, how she had been to Renly's camp and concluded a reasonable peace agreement, and how it had all gone wrong. Lorch's men had set upon them from nowhere, killed her escorts and taken her captive. How she had almost been raped before Ser Amory shoved a blade through the man's chest because "Lord Tywin will want her unspoilt."

In return, Arya told her everything, of the slaughter of her father's household and Syrio's sacrifice, of Yoren and the black brothers, of Ser Amory, Polliver and Lommy Greenhands and of how she had served Lord Tywin as a cupbearer. When she finished, her mother was beaming, and crying again.

"Arya, I never gave you enough did I? My attention was always on the boys and Sansa, but you've done so well. Under his nose for so long, I'm so proud of you."

Then Arya told her about Jaqen and her debt.

"Arya! He is a Faceless Man! You should not be fraternising with such -"

"Mother! Listen! I have one more name, but I don't know who to say."

"Is this man trustworthy?"

"He killed the Tickler and Weese when I asked."

"Then name Tywin Lannister. Without him his family will tear each other apart and their regime will crumble. Who will command here when he is gone?"

"Lord Lefford," she knew the Lannister command structure inside out by now, "But he will hang us for the capture of his daughter and home. If Lord Tywin dies so will we. Is there no other?

"Tyrion Lannister."

"The Imp? Why?"

"He rules in King's Landing and organises it's defences as acting Hand of the King. Kill him and only Cersei will protect the capital from Stannis. He sent a man to kill Bran after he survived being pushed out of a window by the Kingslayer and my sister believes he killed Jon Arryn. It must be the Imp.

"I will tell Jaqen. But how? We're locked in here." While she racked her brains for a plan, including a hare-brained scheme including getting a message to Gendry, her mother walked over to the door and called the guard inside.

A man entered. A man with red and white hair split down the middle.

"For what does a girl summon a man?"

"How did you? But mother I -"

"A girl's mother knows that there are not likely to be two men with this man's features in Harrenhal. This man stands watch outside a girl's mother's door every night. Every night for two weeks."

"You've been here this long mother? How have I not seen you before?"

"Yesterday was the only time I have been outside this room since my arrival."

Jaqen interrupted, "Does a girl have a name? A man has duties to attend."

Arya glanced at her mother, who nodded firmly, before whispering, "The Imp. Tyrion Lannister."


	18. Chapter 18: Bran

_NOTE - I don't have anything against the Stark children, honestly. Despite this I have managed to neglect them thus far. This is the last of the catchup chapters, the next chapter will return to Stannis and the war. There have been questions about Dany, but don't worry, we'll get to her in good time. This chapter introduces another character who I hope we'll see more of in the Winds of Winter. Review, Follow, Favourite and above all, enjoy.  
_

_Bran_

The three-eyed raven came to him again that night. He woke drenched in sweat, back in the dark and gloom of Winterfell's crypts. They had been there for four days now, with Maester Luwin smuggling them food at night. Osha did not appear to have slept, while Hodor did nothing but. The wildling woman had brought them down to the crypts as it was the last place that Theon would look. He was only glad that Rickon was safely headed south, away from the turmoil. He raised his head at the approach of the old maester.

"Osha, I can't keep bringing food down anymore, Theon's men are beginning to wonder where I go. I am watched. You must leave, tonight."

"And where are we supposed to go, old man?"

"Last Hearth. It's close to the Wall, near Jon, and the Umbers are loyal to the Starks. The Greatjon's uncles Mors and Hother rule there in his stead, they'll look after you. Harsh men but true."

"Is there aught else we should know?" Bran asked, he had never met these Umber lords, and wanted to know how to deal with them.

"From what I can remember, they are both proud and prickly, and will take slights to heart, intended or perceived. Best not to give them any reason to get angry. If they like you, they'll keep you safe and raise men for you."

"If they don't?"

"Then they will keep you safe, as is their duty, but they will probably begrudge you everything they give. You will be safe with them either way, but how comfortable you are depends on the first impression you give."

"Anything more?"

"Only that you should not use their nicknames, should you hear them."

"What nicknames?"

"They are unsuited to a child's ears. I shouldn't say."

"Tell me maester."

"Mors is called Crowfood, because when he a crow thought him dead on the battlefield and pecked out his eye, he caught the bird in his hand and bit it's head off. Hother is called Whoresbane, and that story I will not tell. You must leave tonight while the castle sleeps."

"Very well, will we see you again?"

"No, it would arouse too much suspicion. I brought you into this world Brandon Stark, I wish you all the best."

They set out that night, with Bran on Hodor's back, with Osha and Summer on either side. They journeyed for three days without sign of life, until one evening as they made camp.

"Stay here, stay silent. I heard something." Without another word, Osha was running off into the woods, homemade spear in hand.

He sat there for what seemed like hours, waiting for a sound or sight of anything, his entire body tensed. Then the boy appeared. Short and slim, with startling green eyes, he walked calmly towards Bran. Summer promptly placed himself in front of his master, teeth bared. Then the boy spoke,

"Hello Summer, my name is Jojen." He held out his hand, and the wolf snarled. At the same time, a girl appeared. Similarly clad to the boy, but wielding a dagger, net and spear. No sooner had joined the boy, than Osha leapt out and floored the boy, while grabbing the girl and holding her own knife to her throat.

"Who are you? What are you doing here?"

The boy answered, "I am Jojen Reed, son of Lord Howland Reed of Greywater Watch, and this is my sister Meera. We mean you know harm."

Bran took over the questioning, "Then why are you here?"

"The sea has come to Winterfell, the wolf is chained and the three-eyed raven has spoken. We've come along way to find you, Brandon."

The next day, they set out again, with Jojen and Meera in tow. Bran liked the two crannogmen, and Hodor appeared to as well, though that was to be expected. Osha, however, was suspicious. She listened carefully to what they said, and kept her watch alone. As they walked, they dared not risk the Kingsroad, as even now it was frequented by men of all kinds. They had to cross it though, and it was as they did this that Meera saw them.

"Riders, coming from the North. Footmen behind them, maybe two hundred. We have to get down."

"Were they flying a banner?" If they were his brother's bannermen, they would be safer with them than without.

"Yes, a giant in chains."

"The Umbers. Hodor, take me to the road."

As the column approached, the five humans and a direwolf stood right in the middle of the road. The man leading the force was a huge specimen, wearing a snow bear pelt as a cloak, its head covering his own.

"And what do we have here? A wildling, a giant, two dwarves a wolf and a cripple. Now this is a sight rare enough."

Bran tried to use Robb's lord voice, "I am Brandon of House Stark, brother of your liege lord and King. My companions are Osha, Hodor and Jojen and Meera of House Reed. Winterfell was taken by Ironborn and we escaped, we were hoping to make Last Hearth to request the aid of Lords Mors and Hother Umber."

The huge man dismounted, but still towered over even Hodor, "I am Mors. No Lord mind but I'll take it if it's offered. A raven reached us from your Maester Luwin, a loyal man that one. Similar ravens went to White Harbour, the Dreadfort, Oldcastle, the Hornwood and Cerwyn. He said, Winterfell had fallen to Ironborn led by Theon Greyjoy, dead Ned's ward. With Ser Rodrik fighting at Torrhen's Square, men were needed to invest the castle until he returned. So I gathered what men I could, left my little brother to guard our home and headed out. I heard that Ned's children were little shits, but you have proved me wrong my lord. I have two hundred and fifty men here, green boys and greybeards like myself, as the Greatjon took all the real men, but here we are. And we are at your service."

"Very well then, my lord. Do you have spare horses that we may ride? Let us make for Winterfell."

"What would you have us do with Theon Turncloak once we've beaten him?"

"My father raised him, my brother trusted him, I will have his head."

It was difficult for him to say it, but Bran knew what was expected of him. He had heard what Robb had threatened the Greatjon with at Winterfell, before they headed south. He knew the punishment for traitors. He also knew he should swing the sword himself, but he could not. Looking at the big man before him though, he did not doubt that Mors Crowfood would swing it for him.


	19. Chapter 19: Shireen

_NOTE - As requested by 'doctor anthony', chapter from Shireen's POV. I tried to get some of her personal problems into this one, and boy does she have personal problems. I also tried to show Rickon as a sort of mini-Brandon (Ned's brother - not Ned's son), with his confidence and charm, despite his youth. Hope you enjoy!  
_

_Shireen_

She had been woken at dawn, and since then had, rather against her will, been preened, cleaned and dressed to look her best. Her betrothed was due to arrive shortly. She wasn't sure how she felt about the whole thing really, Rickon was only nine. She had asked several people about this four year age gap between them, but their answers had been of little consolation. Her father had said that he and her mother had been six years apart, while Lord Stark had told her that his brother was approaching his tenth nameday, so the gap was only just over three years. Only Lord Davos' response had given her some small comfort, that though it may seem a lot now, by the time she was thirty it would not seem to be a large age gap at all. While she felt slightly better about it now than she had, she was still very nervous. How would he feel about her greyscale, would he even be able look at her? What if he hated her? Her father had said that he would never let her marry someone who didn't deserve her, he needed the Starks. Shireen knew enough about politics to know that that meant that he needed this marriage.

"Princess?" Ser Andros Celtigar poked his head around the door to her chamber, "His grace says to bring you to the main courtyard, they'll be here soon."

As she headed down to meet them, her sworn sword accompanied her. She had grown very close to Ser Andros, he was honest and brave, and, if she was honest, he was handsome. He was silent in public, but in private he would regale her with stories, mostly of his time as Lord Sunglass' squire with his elder brother Ser Artigan. The tricks that he and Lucas Rambston had played on the Lord, who was old even then, never failed to delight her.

She stood beside her father in the courtyard, her yellow dress trimmed with black, and an onyx stag on a chain around her neck. Her father was also dressed in their house colours, a black tunic and a yellow cloak. The rest of the senior lords in the capital were also present, dressed in their finest. Lord Royce was in his suit of rune-encrusted armour, Lord Stark in grey with a wolf-pelt cloak. The sound of horses drew her attention back to the gate.

As the riders entered the courtyard, the Baratheon guards drew themselves to attention. The first man through the gate was an older man with a grey beard in silver armour engraved with seaweed and a light blue cloak flowing over his shoulders. Behind him came more men in similar colours, those of House Manderly. The man immediately behind the leader bore the merman banner of their house. As the column passed on, the banners of other houses appeared; Locke, Hornwood, Cerwyn and surprisingly Frey. When all the horsemen had stopped, the leader dismounted and approached the King.

"Your Grace, Ser Marlon Manderly, commanding the Northern reserve, at your service." The man's voice was deep but sharp, and despite his apparent age, he did not have any problems going down on one knee.

"Rise, Ser Marlon, you are most welcome. Who are these others with you?"

"I command the forces of Houses Manderly and Hornwood. This is Cley Cerwyn, commanding the Cerwyns, and Ser Donnel Locke, commanding the men of Oldcastle." As he spoke he gestured towards two men astride horses behind him. "And these are our mutual friends of Frey, Sers Hosteen, Arwood and Danwell." Three men bearing the distinctive weasel look of their house, but also the stature of their Crakehall relatives sat astride three grey horses.

"Finally, it is my pleasure to introduce to you, Rickon Stark."

One horse pushed forward from the mass under the gate, it's rider nudged it forward further before dismounting smoothly. He was tall for his age, Shireen thought, and handsome, in a boyish, innocent sort of way. His hair was like that of his brother, but longer and wilder. He bowed to the King before turning to her.

"My Princess." His voice was that of a boy, but confident.

She returned his bow with a curtsey, yet as looked up again, she found herself face to face with a huge black wolf, it's teeth bared. She jumped out of her skin, but just restrained her instinctive squeal. As she regained her dignity, the beast advanced on her again. Now she looked properly, it only stood level with her chest and before she could withdraw, it's tongue darted out and licked her hand.

Rickon giggled childishly, "He likes you. Go on Shaggy, away." The wolf backed off and trotted back to the horses, but kept his eye on his master.

Before anyone else could speak, the Frey leader rode forward,

"Lord Stark. Our lord father wishes me to tell you that he is eager to see Roslin wed, and hopes you can join us at the Twins at your earliest convenience."

"I am also eager, Ser Hosteen, though you must not yet know, having been on the road. Your lord father is dead, rule of your house has passed to your brother Stevron, and your nephew Ser Ryman rules at the Twins."

"This news is grievous indeed," despite his words, no hint of grief appeared on his face, "It also makes my news even harder to tell. My lord, the Greyjoys have attacked the North. Torrhen's Square, Moat Cailin, Deepwood Motte and Winterfell itself has fallen."

Shireen watched as the full implication of the words hit Lord Stark. She glanced sideways at Rickon, yet only sadness was shown on his face, not surprise. _They already told him._

"What news of my brother Bran?"

"None my lord. The raven from Maester Luwin said that the castle was taken, no mention of anything else. It must have been sent in a hurry."

Her father and the lords, including Ser Hosteen and Ser Marlon, immediately headed inside to form a response to the Greyjoy attack, leaving Shireen outside alone with Rickon and the wolf.

"Shall we walk my lord?" It seemed like the best thing to say, though it sounded a mite weak.

"Err, yes lets." He seemed rather out of his depth.

As she led him towards the gardens, the wolf hung back and trailed them at a distance. A creature of that size would normally have attracted quite a lot of attention in the Keep, but the people had grown used to Grey Wind this last week, who was even bigger.

"His full name is Shaggydog, Princess. I named him and trained him, though he's a bit wild."

"It suits him well my lord."

"I'm not a lord. Robb is Lord Stark, me and Bran are just Starks. Call me Rickon."

"Only if you call me Shireen."

"Deal."

They walked in silence some more, before Rickon asked her the last question she'd expected.

"Why do we have to marry?"

She decided honesty was the best policy. "Because my father and your brother needed a strong alliance, your brother is promised to a Frey, so we were betrothed instead."

"Oh. Will it be soon?"

"Not until you are fifteen."

"That's four years. How old will you be?"

"Seventeen."

"That's a big gap."

"Yes it is." She really had no idea what to say to this little boy.

"Could we try and be friends?"

This again surprised her. "Of course."

"They said I was to be my great-uncle Blackfish's squire when I'm old enough, but that I would be staying here until then. I don't know anyone here, apart from Robb."

"Then we shall definitely be friends." She found herself smiling despite herself. She'd never had a proper friend before, apart from Maester Cressen or Lord Davos, but they were different. Though she still wasn't sure, she didn't think that the idea of a lifetime with Rickon would be too bad. After all, he wouldn't be a little boy forever.

She was summoned to her father's chamber that evening. He had been discussing the continuation of the war with his commanders all afternoon, and now she assumed, he was going to tell her. That was how it had been before they took the city, why should it have changed?

"Father, you sent for me?"

"Yes I did. I wanted to tell you that I am being crowned tomorrow in the Sept of Baelor by the High Septon. As my heir, you will be at my side, as will Lord Davos, as he is my Hand."

"Will everyone be there?"

"Everyone of note. Except those who will leave the city at dawn tomorrow. Lord Bolton is taking the men of his house, and those of Houses Dustin and Ryswell, north to help reclaim it from the Ironborn, three thousand all told."

"Will that be enough?"

"Almost certainly. The Ironborn are weak when not at sea or raiding, they have no stomach for real battle. Bolton's real challenge will be to force Moat Cailin, it's never been done from the South. Following my coronation, I will be taking the bulk of my men out of the city, to engage Tywin Lannister and destroy him utterly. I will lead half of the men around to the south, and Lord Stark will lead the other half up to the north. Lord Tywin is no fool, he knows he cannot hold Harrenhal, so he will move west. Then we close the jaws on him."

"What about Uncle Renly? Ser Andros said most of his men escaped the battlefield and headed for the Reach."

"He is currently regrouping at Bitterbridge, but his army will crumble beneath him. The Swanns will agree to my proposal, I've given them a sweet enough offer. The Hightowers command a quarter of the men of the Reach, and I have Lord Leyton's three remaining sons, they won't cause us any trouble. The others will soon realise he is a lost cause and abandon him as the Estermonts and Florents did."

"Why must you remarry father?"

"Because I need Gulian Swann. He didn't declare for Renly, and kept his troops at home. He commands the only fresh, untouched force in the Stormlands, except the Dondarrions. Of the thirty thousand men of the Stormlands, Lord Swann commands four thousand, thats a number second only to Renly himself, and not by much. House Dondarrion can field another thousand, maybe two, and with Lord Beric killed several times according to the rumours, his lands have fallen to his wife, Lady Allyria."

"I don't understand."

"Lady Allyria is known to have had a long-lasting affair with Ser Balon Swann."

"Lord Gulian's heir? The one in Joffrey's Kingsguard?"

"Yes, the Kingsguard, but no. Not his father's heir. Ser Donnel is the heir to Stonehelm and he rides with Renly."

"I still don't understand." She was totally lost here.

Stannis appeared to be losing his patience. "I have dismissed Ser Balon from the Kingsguard, so he can now marry. He is now riding south to carry my offer of allegiance to his father. Lord Gulian will declare his house for me, and begin to reconquer the Stormlands. This action will both encourage Renly's bannermen to support me, and to abandon Renly."

"What does he get in exchange?"

"A full pardon for his eldest son, a royal marriage for his daughter and Paramouncy over the Stormlands."

"But we rule there, why give it away?"

"If this war has taught me anything, it is that too much power in one house leads to divisions in that house. When Robert died, three Baratheons claimed the Throne. How many will claim it when I die? No, we rule the Crownlands now, and no one house can rule two regions, not without division and rivalry. Besides, any children I have by Lara Swann will not be heirs to the Iron Throne unless you die childless. They will inherit Storm's End, and that is all, and more than enough."

"How will you reward Ser Balon for this service?"

"It is well known that both he and Lady Allyria wanted to wed, yet her father would not allow it. If Ser Balon succeeds, I will permit this marriage."

Shireen caught on, "Making him Lord of Blackhaven."

"Which means?"

"He will bring more soldiers."

"Exactly. More fresh, undepleted, experienced soldiers. That my daughter, is why I must remarry."

"Will it be soon, or after the war?"

"As soon as Lady Lara arrives, Lord Swann will insist. Speaking of marriage, how did you find the wild boy?" She wasn't sure, but was her father genuinely curious about her?

"He's very young, but I think like him. He didn't look at my face funny like most people do and didn't call me a monster like mother did." The King's expression turned from questioning to livid in an instance. Then he showed an emotion she had never seen from him before, genuine sorrow.

"Whatever she said about your face or behaviour, she was wrong. You are my daughter and I should never have left you with her. You should have come to the city with me, away from her, where I could protect you. I failed you my daughter, I will not do it again. The wolf boy will treat you well, or he'll deal with me. Let me make it up to you, my girl, I will not let anyone harm you."

She leapt up and threw her arms around him. "I don't think that will be needed father, but thank you." _Here goes, _she thought, "I love you."

For a moment she thought he would pull away and turn his back, as he had on his occasional returns to Dragonstone when Robert was King. She was wrong. Much to her amazement, King Stannis, the hardest, least emotional man in Westeros, pulled her closer and whispered, "I love you too, my daughter."

She shook with nerves as she followed her father into the Sept of Baelor. Once again the maids had been let loose on her and another dress in the Baratheon colours had been made. She walked just behind the King and to his left, while Davos occupied the same position on the right. When they reached the stair, she and Davos stopped on the third step from the bottom, while Stannis ascended to the top and knelt before the High Septon. The priest was small and wrinkled, and his jewelled crown almost doubled his height.

"Do you, Stannis of the House Baratheon, son of Steffon, swear to uphold the laws of the realm and rule justly over all your vassals?"

His voice echoed clearly round the sept as he replied, "I do."

"Will you seek the Father's judgement, the Mother's mercy, the Warrior's strength and the Crone's wisdom in your ruling?"

"I will."

"Do you swear to uphold the Faith across your kingdoms as long as you reign?"

"I do."

"Then rise, King Stannis of House Baratheon, First of Your Name, King of the Rhoynar, the Andals and the First Men, Lord of the Seven Kingdoms and Protector of the Realm."

He rose to his feet and turned. Shireen and Davos mimicked him, turning to face the assembled lords, ladies and knights. As one those present bent to one knee. She could see Rickon on the front row, between his uncle Blackfish and brother, he flashed her a smile, and she returned it. He may be young, but he had a certain charm. Her gaze turned to a group of men at the back of the Sept. There stood Ser Kevan Lannister, his sons Willem and Martyn, Ser Addam Marbrand and Ser Lyle the Strongboar. These five did not bow and stood straight, tall and proud. She noticed that their gaze was pointedly fixed upon their former comrade The Hound. Sandor Clegane knelt with the others, a few rows further forward than the Lannisters, beside the captive Hightower knights. He bowed with the others, his loyalty to her father unshakeable now that the King had promised him the chance to slay his brother.

Shireen glanced at her father and saw that he too had spotted Ser Kevan's defiance. His face remained calm and noble, but his eyes told of the fury underneath. She looked at Davos and surprisingly, the old smuggler appeared to be holding back a laugh.


	20. Chapter 20: Margaery III

_NOTE - Another short one I'm afraid. It seems my plan of longer chapters has fallen by the wayside. On the bright side, shorter chapters means more frequent updates! It's been a while since the Tyrells had any real action (they didn't do much at King's Landing), so here they are again, lets hope they don't disappoint. In thsi chapter we meet Willas, Garlan and Garth. I tried to portray Willas as a Doran Martell figure, not physically able but mentally formidable. I think that Winds of Winter will see a rise in Willas' import (up till now he's only been mentioned), primarily because, according to GRRM, having a disability in Westeros means you're damn awesome (Bran, Doran Martell, and I know obesity isn't usually considered a disability but, Wyman Manderly). I wanted to show Garlan as the family joker, well-meaning and jolly. I liked the fact that he comforted Sansa at her wedding, so tried to show his protective nature too. In complete contrast, I wanted Garth to be an utterly despicable shit. We'll see more of each of them, so hopefully I can expand their characters. Enjoy, review, follow and favourite.  
_

_Margaery_

Their flight had been swift. Ser Guyard had, as per his orders, taken her straight to Highgarden rather than wait for Renly at Bitterbridge as she had wanted. Her brothers Willas and Garlan had welcomed her with open arms, while her mother's reception had been somewhat more frosty, immediately asking how long it had been since her moon blood. Lady Alerie had borne three sons, and fulfilled the view that women were for creating male heirs and nothing more. She avoided the question, but her mother had hit home. She had to provide Renly with an heir, and soon. The confidence of his lords was shaken, and needed restoring. However, her husband had forbidden her to leave Highgarden.

Ser Guyard Morrigen, The Green Knight of the Rainbow Guard, was a handsome man, dutiful, loyal and an impressive fighter. Margaery had watched him duel with the other knights at the castle, and never seen him lose, not even to her brother Garlan, who trained against three men at once. He was attendant on her at all times, guarded her, entertained her and told her stories. He told her of how he used to tease Ser Donnel Swann when they were squires, his secret crush on Ser Donnel's sister Lara, how he had flattened Hobber and Horas Redwyne at the same time in a melee when Robert was King and many more.

As they spent more time together, she began to realise just how much he looked like Renly - dark-haired, tall and toned, with blue eyes. She gradually began to desire him, and that urge did not go away as the days passed. If she did have him, any child would either look like a Tyrell, or enough like Renly to not be questioned. She knew she could not have him though. But she wanted him, and she needed a son. He had told her that he had a bastard daughter back at Crow's Nest, so he was fertile.

She began to touch him, only lightly, on the arm or the thigh. She wore increasingly revealing dresses when they were alone. Once or twice she called him in while she was being dressed by her handmaids. She knew that Megga and Elinor would say nothing of her attempts, she knew enough about them to make sure they fell with her. To his credit he seemed incredibly reluctant, he looked away when she was indecent and coughed and moved away when she touched him. Yet he moved too fast, or not fast enough. He wanted her, and she wanted him. She decided that she would have him, that night.

With her father helping Renly re-consolidate their forces, Willas Tyrell was Acting Lord of Highgarden, with Ser Garlan as his second. They requested the presence of both their sister and Ser Guyard. When she arrived she found her great-uncle Garth the Gross was also present. His corpulent frame was squeezed into a chair behind a huge oaken desk, while his bastards Garse and Garrett stood behind him.

"My Lords." She curtsied and her Green Knight bowed.

"Sister," Willas began, "The Florents and Estermonts declared for Stannis after leaving our army, then joined him for his attack on King's Landing. We cannot attack Estermont from here, but Brightwater Keep is only a few days march."

"Surely the King should command any assaults?"

"What would you know girl?" Garth cut across her, "If the King is struggling to hold one army together, he can hardly leave it and go and command another can he? We must deal with the threat at our backs now, and if we act fast enough, we'll get plenty of Florent traitors as hostages."

Garlan stepped forward, "That is why I will command the attack. We cannot wait too long, and Willas and Uncle Garth are needed here. Garse and Garrett will be coming with me."

"And while Garlan deals with the Florents and Garth rules here, I will take the combined fleets of the Reach up the coast."

"What will you do there?"

"I will burn the Lannister fleet at anchor and seize Lannisport. While Stannis may be the stronger of our enemies now, we cannot forget Tywin Lannister."

"You are no warrior Willas."

"Because I'm crippled? No little sister, I am not a warrior, but I can command. I will mimic the Greyjoys and burn the Lion's Tail, yet they will be unable to respond as all their men are in the Riverlands. The Westerlands are undefended, now is the best chance we're going to get."

" I suppose I have no say in this."

"None whatsoever. We mainly called you here to inform Ser Guyard that you are in his charge once we have gone."

Garlan jumped in, "And also that we will kill him if he fails." He said it with such a gleeful tone and a happy smile, yet it infuriated her far more than she expected.

"Leave him alone!" she joined in his fooling, as she always had. It was the best way to deal with Garlan.

That night she dismissed Megga and Elinor earlier than usual. She had business tonight. She shrugged off her robe, leaving her naked body exposed to the chilly breeze. She moved over to the door and, standing behind it to conceal her state of undress, called for her knight.

He came in immediately. She hid behind the door and closed it as soon as he was inside. He turned around as the lock clicked.

"Your Grace! What are you doing? This is highly inappropriate, I must leave." He made for the door, but she placed herself in his path.

"I don't want you to leave Ser. I need you. Now."

"My Queen, I know what you suggest but I cannot -" he averted his eyes.

"Do you not find me beautiful, ser knight?"

"Gods, I do. You know I do. But we cannot. Your royal husband -"

"Is incapable of laying with me," not _strictly_ true, but Guyard didn't need to know that, "He needs an heir. You swore to serve your King did you not?"

"I did but -"

"He bid you to obey me, did he not?"

"Yes, but -" She noticed his gaze drop to her breasts, then move further down. She saw the bulge in his breeches, and pressed her advantage.

"Then serve your King and do as I bid you."

"My Queen, I desire you, I love you. But we cannot, it is wrong, in the eyes of gods and men."

"Ser Guyard Morrigen. Your Queen commands you to fuck her."

"I wish I could but -"

"No more buts Ser." She had him now, she knew it. She began to undo his swordbelt, before his strong arms embraced her. Before long they were both naked and they fell back onto her bed. Guyard was, like Renly, well-muscled and almost hairless, except under his arms and around his manhood. He caressed her as Renly had, as Loras had before him. When he entered, she gasped.

He did not last long, but he made her scream his name before he finished. As her Green Knight rolled off her, she sighed. She had never felt so satisfied, he was better than Renly, and Loras had never been in her, even her liberal mind had refused to consider that. Typical man that he was, he was soon asleep. As she looked at him, she again noticed the similarity to her husband and, to a lesser extent, her brother. Yet while Renly was emerald green and Loras was the grassy green of their family sigil, Guyard was storm-green, darker and forbidden. While her husband was a stag and her borther a rose, her lover was a crow. As she drifted off to sleep, she nuzzled in close to him her back to his chest, feeling his rough hair on her behind. He shifted in his sleep, and his arm came around her. His embrace was warm and cozy. She had never felt so safe. Margaery Tyrell had been a liar, a politician and a lady, arguably all the same thing, but now she was an adulterer too. She didn't regret it.


	21. Chapter 21: Victarion

_NOTE - I love Victarion, he's badass. A snapshot into the developments in the Greyjoy theatre. Hope you enjoy, review, follow, favourite.  
_

_Victarion_

Damn them bloody bog-devils. Damn there green-lander eyes. Then again, the land around the Neck wasn't really green, it was brown. Brown, brown and more brown. He'd been here for what seemed like years. Moat Cailin had never been taken from the South aye, but from the North, it was very weak. His Ironmen had come down on the ruined fortress at night, and slaughtered the paltry garrison the Young Wolf had left there. Now, with the Moat secure, the Northerner soldiers were trapped in the Riverlands, while Balon's reavers ran riot across their homeland. Victarion sat in his chamber at the top of the Gatehouse Tower. He had chosen this on as it was the least damaged, he hated castles, preferring his ship _Iron Victory_ any night. As he sat, he deliberated on the situation. He had not been blessed with the brains of Balon and Euron, this he knew, but he still thought about what he would do, despite the popular belief that he was an idiot. _Let them think that, then they will always underestimate me._

He had heard that Asha had taken Deepwood Motte, as according to the plan, and that she was preparing to move on Bear Island. The girl had done well, and was deserving of her command than he would ever admit. Victarion had been at the Great Council of War when he announced his plan to reclaim the Seastone Chair. He had seen the gleam in Asha's eye.

"I always wanted a castle of my own." She had said.

"And whats my role in all this?" Theon had asked. A stupid boy, made soft by the Starks. He was no Ironman, Victarion had thought.

"Your role would be to stay here if it were my decision, boy. You are a soft greenlander, not true Ironborn." Victarion Greyjoy always spoke his mind.

His brother then informed Theon that he would take a ship to raid the villages on the Stony Shore. His expression had been priceless, Asha had smirked, Victarion had bellowed with laughter. Then Theon had begun to go on about his greenlander lord, Robb Stark. The Lord Captain stopped listening, the way the lad went on about the Young Wolf was enough to make anyone think they were lovers. He was pulled back to the conversation by his own instructions.

"Brother, you will take the Iron Fleet and seize Moat Cailin. This will cut off the Stark army from their homelands, with them out of the way, we will secure the Neck, and everything above."

He had done as he was bid, as had Asha. The problem, as he predicted, was Balon's limp-pricked, boy whore of a son. The lad had somehow mustered the balls to have Dagmer Cleftjaw attack Torrhen's Square, drawing off the Stark defence forces, and attack the undefended Winterfell. Well, it had backfired spectacularly. Stark's loyal puppy Rodrik Cassel had left the Square and besieged Winterfell. Granted, Cleftjaw had then taken the Square, but how long could he hold it? Victarion placed his money on not long. Not that he had a need for money, he paid the iron price, not the gold. His arrogant nephew had sent a raven calling for reinforcements, Victarion had not replied, would not reply. The boy was a fool, to attack so far from the sea. Their strength was in their fleets, they had not the men to hold such a vast expanse of dry land - they needed the ships. Now that word of Winterfell's fall had spread, the Stark boy would lead his men north, and that meant he must force the Moat. Victarion would be damned if he would fail his duty to his King, but all the same, it was Theon's bloody fault. If his stupidity got them all killed, he swore he would rip out his throat. The last words of his brother Damphair came to him. _No man is as accursed as the kinslayer. _He had said the same when Victarion planned to kill Euron, damn his smiling eye, after he had been forced to beat his wife to death after Euron took her.

His mind returned to Howland Reed's bog-devils, with their poison darts. It did not bother Victarion, who wore full plate even at sea, but few of his men had access to proper mail, never mind full plate. Not a day had gone by without at least two men being hit. The worst part was the pestilence. No matter how hard his healers or the Drowned Priest he'd brought from Old Wyk tried, the wounds festered. He'd been to see the first man to fall like this, his leg swollen and green, in absolute agony, the rot spreading up to his chest. Victarion had known there was naught to be done. He had taken the knife from his belt and killed the man there and then. He had seen the panic in his eyes. But it had to be done.

He had led an attack party out after a week of these pot-shot attacks, but all resistance had melted away when he led a party of fifty heavily armed and armoured men into the marsh. They tried to follow the paths, but sank nonetheless. He had heard them screaming behind him as they panicked, got stuck and began to sink. Maron Blacktyde had gone like that. Andrik Sunderly, his cousin, had been bitten by some foul creature of the depths. He had fought the poison, had almost made it back to the Moat, but had fallen into the water. A lizard-lion took him. Huge, grey and scaled. Andrik was not the only one who'd gone like that. Not the death of an Ironborn. Granted, he had died in the water, but the Ironborn should die at sea, not in some foul marsh. Another sortie had not been attempted.

Then the raven had come. His King was dead, had fallen from a rope bridge at Pyke. The letter was in the hand of his brother Damphair, so he knew it to be true.

_The King of Salt and Rock is dead. I had the news through Gerold Goodbrother. Euron has claimed the Seastone Chair, he arrived on Pyke the day after Balon fell from the bridge. Lord Botley was murdered for opposing him. No godless man may rule us. I am calling a Kingsmoot. You must return brother. Euron cannot rule us, you must. Continue Balon's legacy, come to the Kingsmoot on Old Wyk._

Aeron's words were brief, as always. Yet no doubt was left in the Lord Captain of the Iron Fleet. He would sail, with the majority of his strength. The Moat could always be retaken, and he had never been so eager to leave a place. Who else would stand against the Crow's Eye, who else could? Theon was the heir of Balon's body, but he was as good as dead. Cassel would only suffer him to live long enough for his precious Robb to come north and take his head off personally. Asha was next, yet no woman could sit the Seastone Chair. That left Euron, Aeron and himself, yet the Damphair would not stand. He did not know which fools of the other islands would put forth their names, but they were not krakens. It would be the Crow's Eye or the Lord Captain. He would rule, he must. _No godless man may sit the Seastone Chair. _He was resolved, he would stand for the Kingsmoot. May the Drowned God see him take Balon's place. He had never been a match for Euron, except with an axe. Of all his brothers, the Crow's Eye had been the one he hated, long before he claimed his wife. God be just, he would see him dead. _But not at my hand, no man is as accursed as the kinslayer._


	22. Chapter 22: Balon

_NOTE - Apologies for not proof-reading the previous chapter properly, got a bit distracted, my bad. Further Stormland developments in this one. A lot of background as well, but it's my writing so I think I can be self-indulgent. I have found that, as this gets more intricate, its going to be longer between seeing some characters than between seeing others. As I said when I started this fic, the focus will mainly be on Stannis, so we will get regular updates from him, but the others not so regular. Enjoy, Follow, Favourite etc.  
_

_Balon_

Ser Balon Swann was anxious. It had been several months since he had seen his father, Gulian, Lord of Stonehelm, strongest of the Marcher Lords. In fact, it had been just before he left for King's Landing. His father had bid him join Joffrey's court, while sending his elder brother Donnel to Renly. He had claimed that of the three Baratheons, these two were the most likely to win, and House Swann would be represented from the start in their courts. When they had asked him why he wasn't sending men to either king, he had replied,

"I cannot split my troops, or they will both denounce me. I dare not only support one, for what if they lose? I will not see my house fall. Thus, you two will join separate sides, and either way our house will be secure."

So Donnel had gone to Renly and Balon to Joffrey. He had even been made a member of the Kingsguard, while Donnel was reduced to a merge fringe member of Renly's force, for he brought no soldiers. After Kevan Lannister had yielded the Red Keep, Balon had been imprisoned, but comfortably. He had known then that Stannis had a plan for him. Then the King had visited him and asked him why he, who had been his squire, had abandoned him for Joffrey.

"I did as my father bade me, your grace."

That had been the right answer, Stannis valued duty, especially to the head of your House, hence why Renly's betrayal was so galling. Stannis was the lawful king, Balon knew that. Gods, anyone who had seen Cersei's children knew that they were Lannisters through and through.

Stannis had given him this mission and he would not fail. How could his father reject such terms? A royal marriage for Lara, a lordship for Balon and a second seat for their house at Blackhaven, paramouncy of the Stormlands for Lord Gulian, Lara's child would inherit Storm's End, and a full pardon for Donnel. The terms were more than generous, which made him wonder who had drafted the proposal, Stannis or Lord Seaworth.

Lord Gulian had taken the letter from Stannis from Balon and then dismissed him. Some would be riled by this apparent refusal to consult, but Balon knew his father. He would read the letter, make a preliminary decision, then consult and hear arguments. After this he would adapt his plan accordingly, if necessary, and act on it. Balon also knew that he would not be the only one summoned for advice. He was proven correct when his father's other key advisors arrived. Maester Benedict and Ser Gawen arrived together, while Ser Clifford arrived a little later. The maester was exactly as Balon remembered, middle-aged but balding, tall, lean and straight-backed, with an unassuming manner. Stonehelm's castellan and captain of guard Ser Gawen Swann was Lord Gulian's cousin, the son of his dead uncle. He was taller than the maester and more muscular, as to be expected from a life spent fighting in the Disputed Lands in his youth, and continuous training in his latter years. Finally, Ser Clifford, who was another cousin, but the relationship in this case was so obscure that only he seemed to know it. He had taught Balon once, Clifford was Balon's father's grandfather's cousin's grandson, or maybe not, he couldn't remember. This distant relationship had led to Donnel and Balon calling him uncle, just for ease. Clifford was shorter than the others, but still taller than Balon, and was broader too, from his life's service as Stonehelm's master-at-arms. He could remember when Clifford had decided that Donnel and Balon could not defeat him together. He had been right, the two of them were on their arses almost as soon as they had attacked. But Balon was better now, harder, faster, stronger. Ser Clifford Swann's two other defining features were his voice, which reminded Balon of the rolling of far off thunder, and his utter and complete hatred of Lord Walder Frey. His father had told him that this was because Clifford's elder sister Corenna had been married to Stevron Frey, Walder's heir. It was rumoured that when Corenna became ill, Walder had refused to send her his maester, leaving her to die. Clifford placed no blame of Stevron Frey however, as he had been away fighting in the War of the Ninepenny Kings, with Clifford himself. This explained Clifford's often grim demeanour, but today he seemed almost jubilant.

"Walder Frey's dead, the bastard." He grinned, and embraced Balon, "Missed you lad."

"Come!" Lord Gulian's summons rang out before they could reacquaint themselves with each other.

The four men dutifully filed into the solar. Not for the first time, it struck Balon just how_ male_ Stonehelm was. The only women in permanent residence were his sister Lara and Donnel's wife Melissa, a Mertyns of Mistwood by birth. His own mother had died birthing him, and his father had not remarried. The Lord of Stonehelm stood at his window, gazing out over the river Slayne. The Slayne was the key to the Swann's wealth, as it enabled them to trade timber and ores from their mines across the eastern seaboard of Westeros, but primarily, their ships sailed to Cape Wrath and Dorne.

His father was not a tall man, but broad, like Balon himself, with a shock of black hair and a well-trimmed black beard, both flecked with grey. He was often described as a strongly moral man, with a self-restraint streak a mile long. This was true, and even as the second most powerful lord in the Stormlands, the only concessions to aesthetics in his attire were a jet swan brooch on one shoulder, and a pearl swan on the other, mimicking his sigil. HIs cloak was half black and half white, the colours opposed to those of his brooches. Underneath, a shirt of chainmail, a plain leather belt, into which was thrust a plain longsword.

"Stannis Baratheon would at a stroke make us the most powerful house in the Stormlands, such that we eclipse even his own kin at Storm's End. Why?"

Maester Benedict responded first, "He knows that you are a loyal man and -"

Gulain cut him off, "Stannis will not view me a loyal man. I sent no troops to his cause, and my sons to his opponents. Yet he offers a royal marriage for my daughter and more. He wants our men."

It was his turn, "Father, you have always taught us that the family is the most important thing. That is why you did not support Stannis, that is why you had us ride to different camps, that is why you pleaded illness when your summons came. Stannis is offering us the chance to move into a position which would secure us for generations. Surely, this is in the best interests of the family?"

"Aye, I agree that it is. I wanted to make sure you knew entirely what our support would entail. I will take him as my King, as will we all."

Gawen looked up from reading the letter, "My lord, he instructs you to send word of your allegiance without delay. Also to begin to subdue the Stormlands for him, through -"

"Conquest. He would have us as Lords of the Stormlands, yes, but we would be hated by our vassals. He would reward us and ensure that we could never sit easy for long, he is clever I will grant him that. But still, I must accept, since Joffrey is fled and the Lannisters are in retreat while Renly arses about at Bitterbridge. Stannis will win this war, we must not be too late to side with him."

"I concur, my lord. But we must be careful, war will, as you say, cause us no end of problems in the Stormlands." Ser Clifford finally added, peering at the letter over Gawen's shoulder.

"It is as uncle says, father," Balon said, "We may win by conquest, but will be unable to hold our lands. It must be diplomacy."

"Aye it must. So you will wed Lord Dondarrion's widow and bring Blackhaven to our side. I will send for Donnel to return."

"Will Renly let him go, my lord?"

"He will maester. Especially if it is to see his sick father, who is close to death."

Clifford looked puzzled, "I don't understand, cousin."

Gulian had never had much patience for those who didn't think as quickly as he did, "Renly will believe that Donnel is coming home to witness his father's final hours. He knows that Donnel is my heir. Donnel will plant the idea in his head that once his 'sick father' is dead, then he shall return with the troops of House Swann at his back. There is no way Renly will keep him."

"Clever, father, but what about the other houses around us?"

"Lady Mertyns' daughter is wed to Donnel, she will support us willingly. Even if not willingly, she will support us, as her precious Melissa is in this castle. Bryce Caron is in Renly's Rainbow Guard I believe, and has taken all his men away with him. Balon, you will take two hundred of our men, marry Lady Allyria, and then, with her troops added to your own, march on Nightsong and subdue it. Ser Clifford will go with you. This will secure the marches. Along with the Estermonts' declaration for Stannis, this will secure the southern portion of the Stormlands."

"What about the north?"

"I will take the bulk of our forces to Storm's End. Once it has fallen, we will have the key in our pocket."

"What happened to diplomacy?"

"Penrose will never surrender, it will come to an assault. As for diplomacy, I will remarry."

Silence. Balon broke it first, "Father, all these years, after mother, you never once -"

"And now I shall. As you said, for the good of the family. A marriage with the new Lord Paramount of the Stormlands is unlikely to be refused, by anyone, no matter how loyal to Renly they are. It will also have the added bonus of depleting his forces further."

"Did you have anyone in mind, my lord?"

"I believe Lord Grandison has a granddaughter, Mylenda is it maester?"

"Two, my lord, Mylenda and Lorena, both unwed. One by his first son, one by his second."

"Any other eligible ladies?"

"Lord Buckler's daughter is as yet unwed, and proven fertile. Her bastard Cedrik serves with Renly. Lord Fell's daughter Hayleen is also unmarried, and Lord Cafferen's granddaughter has recently flowered, he sent a proposal for Ser Balon's hand only two weeks before King Robert died."

"I recall."

"There is also the Maid of Tarth, my lord."

"Brienne? No, not Brienne, she will never abandon Renly, especially not to marry an aging lord. Harwood Fell commands the most troops out of any of these. Once Storm's End falls, I will write him with the offer. Dismissed gentlemen, Balon, Clifford, you leave in two days."

Balon left the solar with a sense of determination in his chest. He was going to be a lord, his sons would rule Blackhaven, and his wife, well the last time he had seen Allyria Dayne was when he was forced to jump out of her window before her betrothed Lord Beric Dondarrion caught them together. He wondered if she'd missed him.


	23. Chapter 23: Tyrion

_NOTE - More an update than anything else. No major action on the Lannister front atm, but I figured it was time for some news from them. Enjoy.  
_

_Tyrion_

In short, it had all gone to shit. When they lost the city, he had done as bidden by his uncle and taken the boys and Cersei to the ship. _King Robert's Hammer, _how ironic. They had arrived at Dragonstone and Cersei had immediately launched into a tirade at her brother, about how it was all his and Kevan's fault. If they had only left her to rule, they would still hold the city, Joffrey wouldn't be at death's door, and the war would be over as Renly and Stannis' heads would now decorate the city walls. He had walked away and left her screaming in his wake. To his immense surprise, Tommen followed him and when her son walked away, her screaming became directed at him. Tyrion saw the boys back straighten and he continued away from her. It appeared that the lad's time with Kevan had done him good.

Since that episode, Tyrion had effectively secured control of Dragonstone from Lancel, but had allowed him to keep flying the new banner of Lannister of Dragonstone. He had allowed this for two reasons, firstly because it pissed off his sweet sister no end, secondly because whoever ruled there in practicality, it was his Uncle Kevan's seat, so his banner should fly. He also knew that almost as soon as they had arrived from King's Landing, Cersei had taken Lancel into her bed, again. Yet another thing he did not intend to continue. Lancel was a fundamentally decent man, if weak, and he had done a good job of preparing the island for attack. Not that it had seemed possible, but the walls had been strengthened, supplies readied and the garrison prepared. In fact, Tyrion knew from his own inspection that the fortress could hold under siege for six months _and then _cut it's garrison to half rations and knew that, garrisoned by the best the Lannisters had to offer, it would hold much longer. In fact, the plan forming in his head would require it to.

He went to Lancel first, as was correct. Whatever else he might think of his cousin, he was the castellan and heir to the fortress he found himself in. They had received a raven from his lord father a few days after their arrival instructing him that while he fought the armies that were arrayed against them and worked to free Kevan and Stannis' other captives, Tyrion's task was to protect the King, and Tommen. He intended to do just that, no matter how much of a weedy shit his nephew was. He wasn't doing this for Joffrey, he was doing this so that his father might realise that Tyrion was just as much his son as Jaime, and that he might be granted his rightful position as heir to Casterly Rock. A vain hope he knew, but worth a try. The only way to do that was to prove himself.

He entered Lancel's solar without ceremony, Bronn at his back. The knight was poring over a map with his captain of guard. The captain left at his appearance.

"Ah cousin, glad to see you actually dealing with affairs of importance, rather than pleasuring my sister."

Lancel had just about enough decency to look affronted, "I don't know what you mean, Imp."

"I know that you are sleeping with Cersei again, as you did in King's Landing. How would your father feel I wonder? How would _my _father feel? HOw would my _brother _feel?"

Gods the man broke easily. "I'll never do it again I swear, just don't tell my father. Please Tyrion."

"I won't. But you will keep faith with me. You will tell me everything she tells you. You will fuck her whenever she requires, but you will keep me abreast of all her plots. Am I clear?"

"Yes, my lord."

"Good. Now, down to business. The King cannot stay here."

"Why not? I have made this fortress impregnable."

"Indeed, and a marvellous job you've done too," However hard he tried, he couldn't make that sound less sarcastic. "But that is why the King must leave. If Stannis decides to land a force here, his grace will be trapped here, along with his heir, so he must leave."

"And go where?"

"By ship to Lannisport, then on to Casterly Rock. It is the safest place."

"That's a long time at sea."

"Yes, and Stannis cannot learn that he has gone. To that end, you will keep the royal banner flying even when we have gone. We will take one of your ships, the_ Hammer _is too distinctive."

"You're leaving too?"

Seven hells the lad was thick. "Of course, my lord father charged me with ensuring the King's safety, and to so that I must accompany him."

"What shall I do then?"

"You will keep the King's banner flying, and hold this castle to your last breath. No surrender is to be considered. You must be prepared to sit here for years if necessary. As soon as you are besieged, stick the men on half rations. This is deception on a grand scale, we cannot afford this to go wrong. The King's survival hinges on you Lancel, do not fail us."

"I will not."

"Good, now if you'll excuse me, I shall go and break the news to the King and Cersei." That was something he was really looked forward to.

He waddled along the corridor to the King's chambers. The noises coming from his room were disturbing. He stopped at the door and listened.

"Please you grace, I didn't know!"

"Silence! You will pay for your crimes!"

Tyrion had heard enough and burst in, "What is going on here?

The scene that greeted him disturbed him even more. Joffrey sat upright in his sick bed, a look of pure fury on his face. Cersei stood behind him, his face a cool mask staring at the girl on the floor. Sansa Stark was clutching the remnants of her dress to her chest, Ser Mandon Moore poised over her, fist raised. Tyrion could see the bruises beginning on her back.

"I asked what was going on here."

"Nothing that concerns you, Imp." The King had obviously recovered, as before he had been in too much pain to even be spiteful.

"Seeing as Lady Sansa's safety was entrusted to me by the Lord Regent, I believe it is my concern."

"Uncle Kevan is not the Regent, I am." Cersei spoke for the first time, and Tyrion ignored her.

"Well, your grace?"

"I'm punishing her for her brother's treasons. He has sided with Stannis and they took our city, she deserves to die, and she will. Mandon, hit her again."

Tyrion saw the tent in the King's trousers and felt like himself gag. He gestured to Bronn, who promptly hit the Kingsguard in the face and forced him to his knees.

"What the hell are you doing, you cretin?" Cersei interrupted again, "Ser Mandon is a knight of the Kingsguard!"

"And what kind of knight beats helpless girls?" Mandon at least had the sense to look ashamed. Tyrion turned to the other Kingsguard knights, "Ser Robert, Ser Steffon, if the King or my sister orders you to do anything that I would not countenance myself, do not do it until you have run it past me first, is that clear?"

The two men nodded. They were Kevan's men, so would actually do as he had instructed.

"Bronn, take Ser Mandon to a cell, and remove his cloak, he is not worthy of the Kingsguard."

"You can't do this, you, you, bastard!"

"I think you'll find I can. I am not only your Hand, but your uncle, and currently, your legal guardian. You will curb this disgusting behaviour, immediately. Also, you are obviously better, so you will be out of bed tomorrow morning. Especially as we shall be leaving the day after." He turned his back and left, escorting Sansa from the room.

"Where to?" Cersei's voice followed him.

"Casterly Rock." He called over his shoulder. Joffrey and Cersei were his now. With the only two remaining Kingsguard in his pocket, Lancel back on the leash, Tommen rejecting his mother and what Lannister soldiers they had were loyal to him, not her. Their survival depended upon him, and they had no way to remove him. Cersei hated it, of course, but that didn't matter.


	24. Chapter 24: Jon II

_NOTE - Back to the North. Any constructive criticism, PM me. Enjoy, review, follow and favourite.  
_

_Jon_

The ride had been hell. Ser Alliser Thorne was an utter prick, and had taken every oppurtunity to belittle him. _I will kill him._ Only two things had kept him going, his hatred and refusal to prove Thorne wrong by deserting or breaking, and his desire to see Theon Greyjoy hang. They had met the patrol on the road three miles from Winterfell, and they had insisted that the black brothers accompany them.

The siege lines around the seat of the Starks were thin, showing the small number of men who had been left behind when Robb marched south. Jon realised how much he had missed everything, the castle, the people, the godswood.

Jon was one of two chosen to accompany Ser Alliser into the command tent, Ghost following at his heels. As they entered, he saw what must have been the small armies leaders. A man of advancing age, with long white whiskers, whom Jon recognised immediately as Ser Rodrik Cassel, a huge man wearing the pelt of a snow bear, and a small boy sitting on a folding chair.

"Jon!" Bran shouted, "You're here!"

"Indeed I am, brother."

Thorne butted in, "My lords, I am Ser Alliser Thorne, commanding the Night's Watchmen sent by Lord Commander Mormont to escort your captives back to Castle Black."

Ser Rodrik quickly responded, "How many men do you have ser?"

"Ten, ser."

The big man laughed, "Hardly enough to escort a wagon."

"I'm sure we can lend Ser Alliser some of our men to aid in guard duties, can we not?" Bran aimed this question at Ser Rodrik.

"I'm sure we can, my lord."

"It would be much appreciated, thank you." Jon realised that, whatever else the sour knight was, he knew his courtesies.

"We intend to offer Theon terms at noon, ser, would you accompany us? Jon as well?"

Here, Alliser was not so keen, "Snow is not an officer ser, it would not be customary to -"

Bran cut him off, "He was raised here, this was his home, he can see it being avenged."

"As you wish my lord."

The party of five rode up to the gates and stopped just outside arrow range. Ser Rodrik had Bran sitting in front of him on his horse as Bran's specially trained yearling was still in the castle. Mors Umber and Ser Alliser were to either side, with Jon beside his Night's Watch brother. As they sat there, the gates opened and three riders emerged. One wore the grey robes of a maester, the other two the gold kraken on black of House Greyjoy. As they got closer, Jon identified the maester as old Maester Luwin, one of the Ironborn as Theon, and the other he didn't know.

"Ser Rodrik. Umber." Theon curtly nodded to the northmen, "I see you have black brothers with you, I thought the Night's Watch took no part?"

Ser Alliser responded, "Ser Rodrik promised us any and all Ironborn prisoners for the Wall, I'm here to collect them."

Jon pushed his garron forward, "And I have a vested interest in seeing you die, traitor."

"Ah, the bastard. Come back because its a bit cold up there? Or do you miss a woman's lips around your cock? I suppose it must be different with only men up there to warm your beds."

"Silence, boy." Ser Rodrik took over the discussion again, "You will yield the castle, and all prisoners shall go to the Wall, or we shall take it and those who don't die, shall go to the Wall."

"That doesn't sound a very good choice to me."

Maester Luwin spoke up, "Theon, think carefully, your crimes will be forgiven at the Wall, you can live."

"What will my father say about me if I act the coward? No, we shall fight, and die. For what is dead may never die. Here, something to remember us by. Lorren, do it." As he wheeled his horse around he gestured to his man.

As Theon rode off, the man lowered his spear, and thrust it into the maester's side. As Luwin fell from the saddle, Lorren turned his horse, and as he rode away, shouted, "I'll see you on the walls, old knight."

As Mors and Rodrik dismounted and ran to the old man, Jon spurred his mount after Lorren. He had no idea what he would do, but drew his blade anyway. As he neared the walls, arrows swept down towards him, forcing an end to his pursuit. When he reached the parley site again, he saw Ser Alliser's face of thunder.

"What the hell are you doing, bastard? The Night's Watch takes no part! We cannot attack them, but you just did, you fuckwit."

"So I was supposed to let them go?"

"Yes! This was a parley! It is not our place. You will sit in the tent for the assault and will be part of the first column back to Castle Black, you are not fit for the field."

"This is my home! I will help the assault."

"You will not. Your home is the Wall. Get out of my sight."

As he turned his mount around and headed back to the camp, he fumed. _I will kill him._

Confined to his tent for the next three days, he could only sit and listen to the preparations for an assault. He only found out that Maester Luwin was dead by overhearing a man outside his tent. His only news came from Grenn and Pyp, with whom he shared that tent.

"Cheer up, Snow. We don't get to do any fighting either, just gonna go in afterwards and take the able-bodied scum for the Wall."

"It's my home, I grew up here, and Alliser won't let me try to get it back."

"None of us will." The horn sounded, "Right that's the assault signal, we'll come and get you when we're going in."

With that, they were gone. For the better part of the day, he sat in silence, listening for the sound of battle. He could here the screaming and the occasional clash of steel. Then Pyp burst in.

"Come on, Lord Snow! Come and help us clean a castle!"

As they rode up to Winterfell's gate, he saw the ladders against the walls, and the fallen bodies of Stark and Umber men littered the ground, but not as many as he had expected. When they entered the main courtyard, he saw Ser Alliser with his back to the gate staring at the few men who had survived. Five of the ironborn scum knelt before the knight, yet not a one was Theon. Then he saw him, held down by two strong men in Umber colours, Mors raising his blade up to sever his neck.

"NO!" Jon threw himself forward, delaying the execution. "Ser Rodrik, you promised all prisoners, highborn and low, to the Watch. Why do you intend to claim his sorry neck?"

"He killed Maester Luwin, he killed Mikken, he took our home." Bran's voice shouted out. He sat in the arms of the giant Hodor, with a wildling woman and two green-tinged children behind him. "As acting Lord of Winterfell, I condemn him to death. I cannot swing the sword, so my lord of Umber offered his services."

"Would you break a promise made, Bran? What would father say to that?" He had him.

"He would send Theon with you. Take him, but I do not want to see him. Ever."

"Thank you, my lord." Some people would wonder why he just saved the man who betrayed his family, but he had his reasons. It was a long ride to Castle Black, and Theon had deserted once, there was nothing to stop him doing it again. When he did, Jon would be waiting. He was snapped out of his reverie by Ser Alliser.

"Bastard! You're going with Wynton, Grenn and Ulmer. You're taking these shits back to Castle Black. Ulmer's in command, and there'll be ten Stark men with you. Get 'em ready and get going, before we lose the light. Don't lose any of them."

"Where are you going ser?"

"With the Mors to Torrhen's Square, there's more Ironborn there, more men for the Wall. And thence to Deepwood."

With Mors Umber and Alliser Thornes against them, Jon could not help but feel sorry for the Ironborn in Torrhen's Square. Then he turned and saw Theon staring at him. Not killing him was going to be difficult.


	25. Chapter 25: Davos VI

_NOTE - Sorry its been a bit longer between chapters than normal, getting swamped by work. Enjoy!  
_

_Davos_

The army had left two days ago, leaving him as ruler of King's Landing, a significant jump from his humble beginnings in Flea Bottom. Managing this sprawling mass was a tall order, but luckily he had help. The old small council was gone, replaced with a smaller, more functional group. Lords Seaworth, Celtigar and Velaryon ruled the city, with the other two acting as Davos' advisors. Shireen, bless the child, had asked to sit in on their meetings and offered to help in whatever small way she could. Other important figures who had remained were Ser Andros, continuing his duties as the Princess' sworn shield, and Ser Andar Royce, who had assumed command of the City Watch. He had made his first report that morning.

"Well, my lords, in short, the Watch is in bad shape. Corrupt officers, bad morale, little training, no wonder Brightsmile's men went through them like shit through a goose."

"A colourful expression to be sure, but can you improve them?" Lord Velaryon had taken control of the City's finances, along with the title previously held by Littlefinger, Master of Coin.

"I can, my lord, if we can sort the chaff from the wheat. Those that are no good as soldiers can be put to work repairing the defences, cos Renly'll be back as soon as he's sorted out his lords. He'll need to take the city this time, or lose so much face that those who haven't already will abandon him."

"Thank you Commander, you are dismissed."

As Ser Andar left, Lord Celtigar leaned in, "He is right, Renly will attack again, and he cannot afford to fail this time. We must be ready."

"You are our Master of Laws, Ardrian, can your men hold the city?"

"Not against another attack on that scale. We have maybe ten thousand soldiers, counting the remnants of the City Watch. I would need to raise more men."

"Call in a levy from the lords of the Crownlands, they won't like it, but it's better than losing the city. What news of Dragonstone?"

"Still held by Ser Kevan's son Lancel. Though an interesting development, the flagship of the Lannister fleet is docked on the island. It's the ship that we believe Joffrey and his family escaped on. It would make sense to pull back to there, to the closest friendly castle."

"If we can claim it, we could deal with the Lannisters once and for all. Can we spare the men?"

"Not easily my lord, but we have the ships to blockade it and stop them escaping until we have the men to assault the walls."

"Do it Monford. Send a decent captain."

"My bastard brother Aurane is a good hand on the tiller, he'll do the job."

"Excellent. Send enough to block off the island, but don't neglect our naval defences. Anything else my lords?"

It was Lord Velaryon who answered, "Yes, we should put out word that we are hiring the Spider's 'little birds'. We'll be much better informed if we do. We can afford it, for now."

"What do you mean, for now?"

"The royal finances are not in good shape. Eight million plus in debt, three million to the Iron Bank, three million to the Lannisters, one million to the Tyrells, another million to various other houses."

"Well, in that case we can wipe the Lannister debt, and the Tyrell, as they have supported false kings. Bring me a list of those other houses, so we can see if any of them can be wiped too. As for the Iron Bank, I'll run it past his grace in my next report. But for now, put out the word that we will rehire Varys' informers, we could do with knowing what goes on round here."

Davos know turned to Lord Celtigar, "Ardrian, how goes the hunt for our missing councillors?"

"Pycelle has petitioned again to be released. My Lord Hand, I don't see why not, he is only an old man."

"I will think on it. What about Baelish and Varys?"

"Varys has disappeared. We can't find him, though maybe some of his 'little birds' will be able to tell us. As for Littlefinger, he appears to have offered his services to Renly. Say what you like about him, he knows how to deal with money."

"There is little else we can do today my lords, I must leave. I promised the Princess I would join her this afternoon."

After he left the council chamber, Davos made his way out to the training grounds. It was here that Shireen had asked him to join her. As he walked out into the bright sunlight, he saw her seated under a canopy watching a group of lads training. He made his way over to her, observing the boys as he went. Currently two Frey boys were battering seven hells out of each other. While Davos watched, neither of them landed a blow, though the bigger lad appeared to be doing most of the work and tiring fast. Just as he was close enough to see their faces properly, the old knight observing them called out,

"That's enough Walders, go and take a break. Right, you, Velaryon, you'll fight Redfort here. One, two, three, go!" As the two young lads crashed together, Davos hailed the instructor, who turned out to be Ser Marlon, the Manderly knight who had become the capital's master-at-arms.

"Ser Marlon, how are they doing?"

"Surprisingly well my lord, they'd probably put up a better fight now than those cowards in the City Watch." Davos noted how the veteran warrior was raising his voice to ensure that his charges heard this praise. Little acts such as these may well stand them in good stead if we are attacked, he thought.

"Who were those two lads?"

"Freys, Walder and Walder. The big one is Little Walder, the little one is Big Walder, don't ask me why. They are Lord Walder's grandsons, and Lady Stark's wards. I brought them here at her command. my lord Hand."

"Sterling work ser, carry on." With that, he headed to the Princess' side.

"Lord Davos, how are you faring?" She always observed the courtesies.

"Passably well, my Princess. Though there are always more challenges."

"What sort of challenges?"

"Well, we're sending some ships to Dragonstone to stop Joffrey escaping the fortress."

"I hope they don't hurt Tommen and Myrcella in the attack."

"Myrcella is in Dorne, and they won't be attacking, only stopping any ships from leaving."

"Oh."

"How are you finding the Stark lad?"

"Rickon? He's really funny, and my friend, but I'm not sure that I want to marry him."

"You don't need to worry about that for a good many years, lass, just get to know him and enjoy having him around." Then he noticed that the Princess was staring over his shoulder at the training gound.

"Look! Here he is, he's next up to fight! Against one of the Walders." True enough, the nine year old was striding forward with a look of determination on his face as he sized up the smaller of the Frey boys. Rickon was big for his age, and matched the eleven year old Walder for height, exuding the same quiet confidence he had shown when he had ridden up to Shireen upon his arrival at the Red Keep.

Walder went in first, shield thrust out in front, blade held high. Rickon side stepped, and brought his sword down flat on the other boys behind. This elicted a roar of laughter from the other boys. Rickon did not pause to laugh though, and moved in immediately. The Frey recovered quickly, though his face was now an interesting shade of crimson. Rickon immediately had his opponent on the defensive, yet, unlike the earlier match, no blows were wasted. As Walder backed up further and further, Rickon pressed harder, before bringing his training blade round in an arc. As the Frey brought his shield round and leant in his weight to take the blow, Rickon slammed his shield into the other boy, who fell.

"Enough!" Ser Marlon's voice rang out, "He's down, leave him be."

As Rickon turned away from his fallen opponent, Davos noticed a small strip of yellow and black cloth tied around the arm which held his shield, hidden from the other boys. He turned to Shireen and raised his eyebrow. She had obviously seen it too, as her face turned to a similar colour to Walder Frey's.


	26. Chapter 26: Brynden II

_NOTE - a return to the Blackfish now, a long overdue one. He is rapidly becoming one of my favourite characters. Enjoy.  
_

_Brynden_

Many said it was going to be a clean up operation, but Brynden Tully knew better. Stannis had taken a huge risk by marching out to engage Tywin Lannister. In doing so he had left King's Landing open to attack by Renly, with only his Hand, those polished turds in the Gold Cloaks and a few thousand of his real soldiers to defend it. Whats more, he had elected to divide his forces, sending the Northerners and Riverlords north to Riverrun, while the King himself led the Crownlanders and Valesmen to reclaim the freshly abandoned Harrenhal. Robb commanded the forces that had marched north and had marched straight for Riverrun with no delay. Much to their surprise, Lord Tywin had continued his retreat and, according to their scouts, was entrenched at Pinkmaiden. They had received word from Stannis the previous day, saying that they were to continue to move to Riverrun, while he moved from Harrenhal to Stoney Sept. The King also wrote that he had found Harrenhal deserted, with not even a corpse to be seen, the quiet had apparently been disturbing. Then they entered the Great Hall, where a huge pile of bodies had been built in front of the dais, a _mountain. _The artistic arrangement of three black dog corpses on a piss-stained yellow sheet showed the work to be that of Gregor Clegane. Just reading the letter had disturbed the Blackfish, so he did not envy those who had actually seen this horrific spectacle.

He entered his great-nephew's command tent to find him alone, except for the Greatjon and Stevron Frey. The new Lord of the Crossing had risen high in Robb's councils, as was to be expected for a man commanding the largest single body of troops except the Tullys and Starks, not to mention his competence. Brynden liked him, but every time he saw him he could not help but pity him. He was an honest man, nothing like his late father, and if the war didn't get him, his sheer daftness would. The Twins was full of men eager for more than they had, not the least of them being his own son Ryman, and he doubted Stevron would last long amongst them. The three men were poring over a letter, and animated discussion was taking place between them.

"You wanted me, my lord?" His voice disturbed their debate, and Robb smiled.

"Ah, uncle. Come and read this." He did as he was bid.

_Tywin Lannister, Lord of Casterly Rock, Shield of Lannisport and Warden of the West, to Robb Stark, Lord of Winterfell and Warden of the North._

_You currently hold captive my son, Ser Jaime Lannister, my brother, Lord Kevan Lannister of Dragonstone, two of his sons, Willem and Martyn._

_I hereby make an offer to exchange captives with you, for I see that the message I sent with Ser Tion Frey was not sufficient, therefore I write to you directly. I am sure that you understand the pain of being separated from your family, in fact you must seeing as I currently hold both your sisters and your mother. For the release of the four of my kin mentioned above, I offer your family's return. In addition to this, I offer Lord Medger Cerwyn, Rickard Ryswell and Robin Flint, and the bones of Lord Rickard Karstark._

_I am certain you appreciate the generosity of my offer, and do not delay in answering, for my patience is wearing thin._

This registered very quickly, and there was only one answer in Ser Brynden Tully's mind,

"You cannot mean to accept, my lord? Tywin would rob you blind."

"How so, ser? Family for family, plus some important Northern nobles into the bargain. Lord Rickard's bones too, that will appease his kinsmen."

"Yes, but those lords are not commanders. You give back Ser Kevan and the Kingslayer, you will return the Lannisters two of their best commanders."

"I called you because I thought you would appreciate that I need to free my family, and yours, ser. Evidently not, all of you out. They are my captives, I will do as I must."

The Greatjon refused to budge, "You free the Kingslayer, and you'll have half your army abandon you, not to mention the King will have your head."

"We shall see, my lord. Leave me."

They left. Brynden found himself in conversation with Lord Frey as they headed to their tents.

"My Lord of Frey, what are your plans for the Twins now?"

"What do you mean, ser?"

"I mean, how are you going to deal with all those who would kill you for your title."

"My title belongs to my son Ryman, then his son Edwyn."

The man just wasn't going to get it, was he? "Not if Black Walder has his way, or Tywin wins this war, he'll put Emmon in the Twins."

"Tywin Lannister won't win the war, we have him pinned."

"It doesn't matter, you must keep you kin in check."

"Relax Blackfish, I'll be fine. Though I do appreciate your concern." With that, he turned and strode off. Brynden saw him approach his half-brother Hosteen, who smiled maliciously at Tully over Stevron's shoulder. He made a mental note to watch that one.

Several days passed, and Robb would not shake from his decision, despite the best efforts of almost all his lords and advisors. Only Harrion Karstark, now Lord Karstark supported his liege lord in this, as he wanted his father's bones back. They had headed for Pinkmaiden as instructed, yet Robb had ordered them to head for a small ford slightly out of their way. This was the agreed location for the hostage swap. Brynden had prevailed on his great-nephew in one respect at least, he had agreed not to release the Kingslayer. In response to this Tywin had responded with withdrawal of his offer to release Sansa. He could still remember Robb's grief as he read the letter.

"As you insist upon trying my patience, and refuse to release my son and heir to me, I shall not give you your eldest sister back. Do not write again. This is my final word."

"You cannot go back on it now. If you release the Kingslayer, not only will Stannis and your lords have your head, but Tywin will see you as a feeble and weak lord and politician."

Luckily, Robb had listened, finally. Brynden had personally delivered the news of the extension of his stay to Jaime Lannister, who had cursed and spat, but despite this verbal bombardment, made no other acknowledgement of the news.

And so they had reached the exchange point, and Robb gave him command of the prisoners' escort. He rode out of the camp with twenty men, with Kevan and his sons in the centre. Despite being surrounded by guards, the Lannisters were pelted with rocks and shit. Kevan continued onwards, ignoring the insults and projectiles and, to their credit, his sons did their best. Yet they were only squires of thirteen, and the hatred of a whole army was a difficult thing to endure. Though they kept going, one particularly large rock hit Martyn in the chest and he fell from his saddle. Willem and Kevan immediately turned back to help him. The escort soldiers did nothing to help. Eventually they got Martyn back into his saddle, and the column continued with, thankfully, no more upset.

When they arrived at the ford, the Lannister men were already there. As per the tradition, the party leaders met midway between the two groups. As Brynden rode into the shallow river, little more than a stream at this point, he was met by a man he recognised from the Siege of Pyke.

"Ser Lewys Lydden, I had no idea you were still alive."

"Lord Lydden thank you, Ser Brynden." He stressing of the word 'ser' reminded Brynden of something.

"I had forgotten how much of a tit you were. Though the new beard suits your sigil. Shall we crack on?"

"Aye, I have for you two Stark women, a Cerwyn, a Flint, a Ryswell and the bones of a Karstark. He gave us a good fight did Karstark. Shame I had to have him killed."

"Shut it shit-for-brains or I'll have your tongue out."

"Where is Lord Kevan?"

"I'll have him brought over." He waved at his men, who began to escort the hostages to the centre of the flow. As they did so, the Stark hostages were brought from the other side.

As they each approached the centre, the chaos set in. An arrow flew and took one of his men in the throat. As the soldier screamed, more arrows flew. Brynden sprung into action, drawing his sword and heading for his niece and her daughter. Lydden interposed himself between them. He spat in his face and punched his nose. It cracked and the man fell into the water. Running through another man, with more arrows falling, he made it to the women.

"Don't just sit there! Go!" They galloped off. Before he followed, he glanced around. Three of his men still stood, but they were surrounded. Lydden was back on his feet, blood pouring from his ruined nose and screaming at his men to kill the survivors and get after the Starks. The other northern captives lay dead in the river, with many arrows jutting from their corpses. He briefly glimpsed Kevan and his sons galloping for the Lannister lines, but he was distracted by his horse taking an arrow. He fell to the ground and rose again. He turned on his heel, there was nothing he could do but try and get his in back to safety. He drove himself on into the forest following the trail of the escaped ladies. He pulled up. A group of men in Lannister colours were before him. Two of them held Catelyn and Arya. He drew his sword again and looked for their leader. For the first time in many a year, Brynden Tully was afraid.

Gregor Clegane raised his sword.


	27. Chapter 27: Victarion II

_NOTE - Yet more Greyjoy pillaging and reaving, raping and typical Ironborn stuff. Enjoy.  
_

_Victarion_

Old Wyk was the smallest of the Iron Islands, and, if Victarion was honest, he had always considered it a shithole. He had passed Pyke on his way, and seen the Crow's Eye's _Silence _ moored in Lordsport. _No godless man may sit the Seastone Chair. _Yet he'd bet his last drop of blood that Euron was sitting there now, his unholy arse polishing the stone. The Iron Fleet sailed on through the driving rain. _The Storm God knows I will be crowned, and shows his displeasure._ Through the haze, Old Wyk hove into view.

He ordered his fleet to block the bay, and not allow any ships to leave. He would not have the traitors abandon him after his acclamation by the Moot. His _Iron Victory _proceeded into the natural harbour, and amazingly _The Silence _was already waiting there. How Euron got there before he did Victarion had no idea, but was growing used to his trickery. He ordered Nute the Barber to bring guard the ship, and went ashore.

Victarion immediately sought out the Lords and Captains whom he knew would give him their support. Aeron had written to him, assuring him of the votes of House Goodbrother, all three branches. After visiting them, verifying their support and being joined by his brother Aeron, he made for the tents of the Harlaws. A powerful house, there were four branches of Harlaws, yet they would follow the direction of The Harlaw, Lord Rodrik of Ten Towers, The Reader. Lesser men would wait to be admitted, but he had come to claim his right, not fawn and scrape.

"My Lord of Harlaw! Brother!" He bellowed as he barged in. They were not technically brothers, but Rodrik's sister Alannys had wed Balon Greyjoy and borne his children, and they had fallen into the habit of calling each other brother. What Victarion had not expected was the presence of his niece Asha.

"Hello uncle, come to help me claim my crown?" He had forgotten how arrogant she had grown, and her recent conquests had evidently not helped her learn humility.

"You cannot me to stand?" He scoffed, "No woman can rule the Ironborn. Tell her Damphair."

"He is right Asha, you may have the respect of many, but a woman's battle is in the bed chamber."

"Piss on that uncle. I have led men to battle, conquered and taken castles, just as you have."

The Reader entered the discussion now, "Asha, none of us here doubt your skill, but you must see that the captains will not accept it. Especially with the terms you offer."

"What is wrong with peace? We have made immense gains in the North, why lose them now?"

"You would have us bend the knee again? You are soft woman! When I am King you will marry. No discussion. Rodrik, my friend, can I count on Harlaw support?"

"Doomed as it may seem Victarion, I am bound to offer support to my blood. I will shout for Asha at the Moot, though I will not speak for my captains."

"Very well. I had hoped for your counsel Reader, but evidently you would have us ruled by a woman, maybe you are as soft as they say."

The feasting and entreating continued for another week, and throughout that time Victarion pointedly avoided the Crow's Eye. However, as the captains gathered there was no escaping him. His lips and eye were bluer than he remembered, and his skin paler.

"Ah little brother, come to help me claim the Driftwood Crown?"

"Not on your life, Crow's Eye."

"Come now, why do you hate me so? You're not still hung up on that business with your third wife are you? Get over it Victarion."

"You made me kill her."

"She killed herself when she sucked my cock, and she was_ oh_ _so_ willing. I wouldn't marry again if I were you brother, or you might find that all women have the same faults." His smiling eye gleamed brighter, and he turned away.

_No man is as accursed as the kinslayer._ At this moment being accursed sounded damn good and rewarding.

Aeron had taken the platform and begun to shout, "Balon is dead. Who shall be our King?"

The first to come forward was some Blacktyde lordling, Victarion heard him speak of trade and seals and lost interest. The captains would not shout for him, and true enough, only his own men did.

Next came Erik Anvilbreaker, then a Drumm. Both were rejected. Erik had been mighty, but was old and so fat he had to be carried up to speak. All his supporters abandoned him when Asha challenged him to stand and he could not. Victarion had smiled at this, so much so that he missed all of what Drumm said, though his applause was similarly uninspiring. He prepared to stake his claim, but saw Aeron shake his head. _To soon. _He had better wait a little longer.

Asha stood, with her lover Qarl and Tristifer Botley as her champions. She waxed lyrical about her successes, as if a few miles of coastline and a wooden castle a thousand leagues away meant something to these men. She promised them they would hold their lands, and the nail in the coffin of her claim, peace. Jeered and mocked by many, though the Harlaws shouted, as did a few others. Then he knew his time had come.

"Ironborn!" He had always had a powerful voice, and now he used it to full effect. "Balon brought us back to the Old Way. Balon made us great again. What you'll get from me is more of what you got from him."

"Failed rebellions?" A man shouted from the back.

"No. Reaving and raiding as we did of old. Once more the Ironborn will rule wherever men can hear the sea. Lion and stags can fight for the greenlands, but the Kraken rules the sea. Thats what I offer you, the Old Way. And as many salt wives as you can take!"

The silence which followed was deafening. For a moment, Victarion worried that he'd made a mistake, but then it happened. Starting as a rumble at the back, the roar of shouts spread like wildfire and before long, all the captains were roaring his name. "Victarion King! Victarion King!"

The Damphair came forward and hushed the crowd. "Shall Victarion Greyjoy be our King?"

"NO!" The Crow's Eye did not shout, but his voice carried as if aided by some fell magic. "I shall rule."

The Drowned Priest's response was swift, "No godless man may sit the Seastone Chair. Victarion is King!" The chant began again.

Then it sounded. An earth-shaking rumble, accompanied by a piercing shriek. Victarion looked to Euron again and saw his smile. His blue eye gleamed as he taunted him,

"What's wrong little brother? Is a Dragonbinder Horn too much for you?" He indicated a colossal horn, held by four of his men, engraved with ancient symbols and banded with gold and valyrian steel.

"Where did you find that monstrosity?"

"I'm glad you asked. In the ruins of Old Valyria, where only I have sailed and survived since the Doom, where the red smoke still hangs, I found this horn. When I am King, I shall seek out the Dragon Queen of Meereen, take her to wife and bind her dragons to me with this horn, and take the Iron Throne! Why settle for the barren coasts my little brother offers, when we could have Westeros?"

"This is blasphemy!" Aeron's voice roared out over Euron's. "Only the Storm God would have us dominate the greenlands. Our people underestimated dragons before, and look what happened to Harren the Black. I name you a traitor to your people and their god. I call upon all the drowned of the Ironborn to impose exile upon this servant of the Storm God. Let him find no safe house amongst us. Let him return to his archaic treasons and let him live off them. Let him eat of them, let him drink of them, for he shall find no other sustenance. Let him go from our home, let him go where he will. Let him seek his Dragon Queen if he wishes and sate his inhuman lusts upon her. In the name of the Drowned God, I name Euron Greyjoy, the Crow's Eye, eldest living son of Quellon Greyjoy, exile and no longer Ironborn."

If Victarion had not already been a firm believer, he would have become one right there and then. As he spoke, the prophet had seemed to grow to twice his normal height, dark clouds gathered and thunder rolled. When he finished, a bolt of lightning cracked and struck the roiling sea. The effect was broken with a simple noise, as Euron Greyjoy laughed.

"You think your tricks can scare me wetbeard? I serve one with greater power even than your paltry fishgod. Very well, I shall leave, but remember this. I shall return, with dragons at my side and a beautiful bride to warm my bed. And before I kill you, my brothers, I shall fuck her before your eyes."

With this, he turned, gesturing to his men to move off. Then, as if recalling something, he half turned to Victarion and said, "Oh, little brother, you almost let me forget, I have this for you." He held a loft a small hand axe, obviously valyrian steel, even from a distance. "My present for your succession."

"Your gifts are poison, exile."

"Aye, that they are." With that he hurled the axe. Victarion raised his gauntlet, hoping it would take the blow, rather than his face, but no blow came. The Drowned Prophet fell, the axe embedded in his forehead. The sky was rent by yet more lightning and the waves crashed against the cliffs below as Euron and his mutes melted into the gathering fog. _O __God, now we are truly lost. _Victarion shuddered, he was King, but at what cost?


	28. Chapter 28: Willas

_NOTE - More Tyrells this time round. Sorry it's been a while, exams and all. We see more of Willas in this chapter, a character so far only mentioned by GRRM, but I'm hopeful for more from him in Winds of Winter. Enjoy, review, etc.  
_

_Willas_

He couldn't remember how long they had been at sea, but he did know that it was far too long for his liking. He had cursed himself over and again for insisting upon leading this venture, sure it was less demanding than a march on land, but his lame leg ached constantly, not helped by the pervading damp of his cabin. He and Garlan had left Highgarden on the same day, and news had reached the fleet only two days ago that Brightwater Keep was beseiged, and while Garlan had offered good terms, the Florent castellan had refused him. Ser Colin Florent, Garlan wrote, was much the same as his brother Alester, with just as little liking for the Tyrells. His brother also wrote that Lord Alester's heir, Alekyne, had fled to Oldtown, which had now declared for Stannis.

The loss of the Hightowers from Renly's cause was devastating, a quarter of the Reach was sworn to Old Lord Leyton, now they had turned against them. Being honest, Willas had expected it, Leyton was an old man, his eldest son killed attacking King's Landing, his other three held captive by Stannis, of course he would bend the knee. Whether the remaining Hightower troops with Renly would abandon him or remain, Willas didn't want to predict. News of Renly had arrived only hours before he had left for the fleet. Lord Mace wrote that the King was distraught and wracked by guilt, he was convinced that this was the vengeance of the gods for betraying his elder brother, and that only fear of Randyll Tarly kept the army together. Freshly reinforced and regrouped, Renly's forces still numbered fifty thousand, but his ability to lead them was now in serious doubt. Willas' lord father instructed him and Garlan to achieve victory in their efforts, that their enemies must not forget them and that these successes would be just what was needed to return Renly to his old self. He doubted that.

The heir of Highgarden limped to the rail and strained his eyes trying to look out over the fleet, all the naval might of the Reach, an armada matched only by the Iron Fleet and possibly the combined fleets of Stannis and his lords, yet the fog meant he could only see four ships, and the fog lamps of maybe six more. He hoped they did not run into any more Greyjoy ships. They had found two adrift, claiming to have been sent after a ship called _The Silence. _That name had sent a shiver down Willas' spine, he knew of Euron Greyjoy and his fell reputation, but took encouragement from the Ironborn captives informing him that Victarion ruled the Iron Islands, not Euron. Since then, the fleet had been slowed by dense, unshifting fog, day and night. On occasion, the crew claimed they had seen the dark hull and sails of a sleek raiding vessel, but as soon as Willas or his on-board second, Ser Talbert Serry, came on deck, it was gone. Willas couldn't shake the sense of trepidation that they would soon find out what was going on, and he didn't think he'd like the answer.

He and Ser Talbert were quartered in the Serry warship _Alabaster Rose_. Lord Redwyne had offered him a cabin on the Redwyne flagship, but Willas had graciously refused, wanting to be diplomatic and honour another house with his presence, however dubious that honour might be, hosting a cripple whose battle experience consisted of one failed joust ten years ago. He did feel a fraud, he had next to no experience outside his books, but knew he had to do his duty, what was expected of him, so he would. Part of him was jealous of Garlan and Loras, for their whole bodies and martial skill. Since his accident, and despite his father's suspicions he knew it had been an accident on Oberyn's part, he had felt inadequate, a failure. He knew it was not his fault, but could not shake the feeling that he did not meet his father's wishes in his heir. In his lowest moments he had considered running away to the Free Cities, or becoming a maester, the gods knew he liked books enough. In the end though he had not, it wasn't him. He had discovered that he enjoyed reading people, predicting their actions and words and engaging in intellectual discussion. He had maintained contact with Oberyn Martell since his maiming, and had even spent two years in study at the Citadel, learning history and economics. He had resolved that if he could not be a Leo Longthorn, he would be a Harlen. If not a fighter, then a man of the mind.

While he was musing, he had somehow made it back to his cabin. He was about to summon Ser Talbert, when the knight burst in,

"My lord! The fogs clearing, you must come up."

"I'm on my way." He reached for his cane, and slowly hobbled to the fore of the deck.

"What am I looking at Talbert?" He couldn't see anything in the gloom, but the knight had obviously seen something worrying.

"There my lord, just in front of us."

"Where? I can't see anyth- Seven Hells!" He did not curse often, but now understood his second's palpable fear. Their sleek hulls began to appear out of the fog. Low in the water, with bronze rams on their prows, the Ironborn raiders were powered through the water by banks of oars, not relying on the wind as the Tyrell fleet was. There were so many of them, enough to match his forces, if not more. His only hope was that the Greyjoys had also not been expecting to meet any enemies in the fog, indeed surprise was their only chance.

"Furl sails! Crews to the oars! Ramming speed! Sound the attack! To arms! TO ARMS!" Not used to bawling commands, his voice did not carry very far, but Ser Talbert had grown up on these ships and promptly echoed Willas' commands at full parade ground volume. As they drew closer, he could here similar commands echoing from the opposing ships. There it went, the element of surprise, he could almost hear the whooshing noise it made as it flew by.

"My lord. You should go below. There's going to be some serious brawling on deck any time now, we're lined up against the _Iron Victory_."

"And why should I do that, ser?"

"I only thought that, given your... no reason at all my lord."

He wasn't going to die hiding like a woman, cripple or not. If they were indeed against the _Iron Victory_, then King Victarion was not like to let him live, so he would fight. He grasped a small crossbow. He would not be able brace on his bad leg, so pressed himself against the cabin door, and loaded. He had a quiver of bolts at his side, and a sword and dagger on his hips, though he knew he would not like be able to kill anyone, let alone one of Victarion's chosen. Ser Talbert stood, his blade raised, at the head of his men, in full armour, showing all that he did not fear drowning. Then the ships collided.

The impact knocked many from their feet, including Willas. A kindly marine pulled him before winking and plunging into the fray. The Ironborn came howling over the side, and the Reachmen met them. Steel met steel, or in some cases flesh. Loud crashes and screams told of the rest of the fleets making impact. Now it would be just bloody hand-to-hand combat. He fired his first bolt, taking a huge axeman in the mouth. Whatever else he was, Willas' time hawking had made him one of the best shots with a crossbow in the Reach. Shot after shot he fired. Some missed, his hands shaking, but most hit. One man, bare from the waist up was taken by a bolt so squarely that he fell back over the rail and into the water.

Then he saw him, a giant encased in steel, a mighty axe in hand, a kraken helmet covering his face, the Iron Captain entered the attack. Using his shield as a weapon just as much as his axe, Victarion Greyjoy cut a bloody swathe through his opponents, until he met Ser Talbert Serry. Transfixed by this clash of titans, Willas could only stare, and wish he could intervene. The kraken forced the white rose back, and back, but Serry gave as good as he got, landing blows on Greyjoy's arms and one to the head. Somehow, Willas got his crossbow reloaded and loosed another bolt, which stuck in the Iron Captain's shield. This provided Ser Talbert with enough distraction to renew his attack, putting his opponent on the back foot. Willas briefly lost sight of them in the swirling melee on deck, his attention turned by the screaming Ironborn man running towards him, a wicked barbed axe raised high. With no time to reload, Willas pulled himself upright._ This is it_. He drew his sword and tried to brace, wincing as pain shot up his leg, but kept the blade up. He parried the blow, just. All his weight was on his healthy leg, and he held his sword single-handed, the other gripping his cane and holding him up. He blocked the second, and that was an even closer thing. Pain lanced up his side as he struggled, then he realised he only had one hope of surviving. Mustering all his remaining strength, he threw himself forward and swung his cane at the raider's legs. The cane was solid hardwood, and connected with the man's shin with a sharp crack. Using the time given by the man's howl of pain, Willas put all his weight behind his sword and rammed it into his opponent's stomach. As the Ironman fell, his weight was too much for Willas' already exhausted leg to hold, and he collapsed onto the deck next to the body._ Well, I tried father, I tried. _He blacked out, dimly aware of the golden rose of his house flying from the mast.

When he came round he was back in his cabin. He tried to get up, but the pain from his leg made him cry out and forced him back onto his pillow. Apparently drawn by his shout, a man in a Serry tabard entered the cabin.

"How do you feel, my lord?"

"I've been better. The warrior's life isn't for me I fear. Bring me Ser Talbert, I need to know our losses and such."

"Would that I could, my lord. Ser Talbert fell to the Iron Captain. With him dead and you unconscious, Lord Redwyne has assumed command."

"Then bring him."

"Yes, my lord." The man bowed and took his leave.

_I cannot meet him like this. I must get up. _He spent another hour trying to get up before he succeeded in pulling his legs over the side of his bunk. Another few minutes were spent reaching for his cane, and he finally managed to limp to the table. Collapsing into his chair, he was sorely tempted to go back to sleep. _No, I mustn't. I have to find out._

Lord Paxter swept in unannounced. "My lord Willas. You summoned me."

"I did my lord of Redwyne. You assumed the command upon my incapacitation."

"That I did, as the most experienced naval commander here." The remark was pointed, but Willas ignored it.

"How fares the fleet?" If Redwyne was going to forget courtesy, so would he.

"Approximately a quarter lost, another quarter badly damaged."

"What happened?"

"The Greyjoys attacked, battered us to buggery, and withdrew. It appears they've taken Fair Isle."

"Did you order a pursuit?"

"No. Their ships are much faster than ours, and less heavily laden, we would not have caught them if we tried."

"What did you order?"

"A retreat to the Shield Islands. To regroup. We cannot fight both the Greyjoys and the Lannister fleet."

"No indeed. Thank you my lord, leave me."

_I tried father, I tried. But I failed._ He would go back, humble in defeat. He could hear them now, 'There goes Lame Willas, who thought he could fight.'

No. He would not crawl back, his father and Renly needed a victory, so he would give them one. He glanced at the map of the Westerlands on the table. There were plenty of strongholds on the coast, but Lannisport was blocked by the Greyjoy's, as were The Crag, Faircastle and Kayce. Crakehall however, was on the way back to the Shield Islands. The Crakehalls were an old family, not particularly rich, but the loss of their castle would hit the Lannisters hard. He smiled, he would not crawl back, he would bring a victory, and his leg permitting, he would command the attack himself.


	29. Chapter 29: Kevan IV

_NOTE -A brief return to Kevan, its been a while since we've had anything from him.  
_

_Kevan_

Not the hostage transfer he had imagined. As Lord Lydden escorted him and his sons back to the Lannister camp at Pinkmaiden, Kevan had quizzed the man on what he'd missed in the war. It emerged that since the taking of King's Landing, events had, if possible, taken an even more dramatic turn for the worse. Bereft of allies, Lord Tywin was in full retreat, with the Westerlands themselves under attack. His brother had risked his valuable Stark hostages to get him back, which meant that Kevan was needed.

They reached the camp after an hour, and Kevan was conducted straight to the lord's solar. Lord Tywin had appropriated it from Lord Piper, whose family had declared for Stannis with the Tullys. He was poring over a map of the Riverlands, but looked up as Kevan entered. Gods, he looked awful, pale, drawn and sickly. He looked a broken man.

"Ah, brother. Returned to us at last. Did the Starks enjoy the welcome party I sent them?"

"They definitely didn't see it coming, yet your man Lydden let his arrogance win out over sense, and both ladies and the Blackfish escaped. I assumed this act treachery was his idea, but now I learn you ordered it? I am told our situation is desperate, and many are calling for our surrender, yet how can we possibly plea that now, once they tell of what tricks we pulled at a hostage exchange of all places." He had never spoken to his brother like that before, and immediately decided it would have been better to hold his tongue.

The fury in Lord Tywin Lannister's voice resembled an avalanche, "How dare you? How _dare_ you? All my life I have built up this family from the depths of it's worst hours. All my life you have been at my side, yet now you speak of throwing it away? I will not toss away my life's work on our legacy to Stannis Baratheon. Joffrey will sit the Iron Throne."

"Tywin, you know I am loyal, but all avenues must be considered, and while Joffrey is King, we will never have peace, he is a monster."

"What do you mean?"

The time had come, Kevan knew how his brother would react, but also knew that many thousands of lives depended on this war ending, and soon. During his captivity, he had realised just how doomed the Lannister cause was, and while there would be no pardon for Tywin, Cersei or Joffrey, he hoped that he might save the others, especially little Tommen. He knew Tywin would not bow, but he had to try.

"He beat Sansa Stark in front of the whole court, he beat Myrcella and Tommen. Tyrion and I put a stop to it, sent Myrcella to Dorne to wed Trystane Martell. I took Tommen as a squire, replaced Cersei's men in the Kingsguard..."

"I almost feel as if you might arrive at the point sometime soon."

"Very well. Joffrey is not Robert's son."

"What?"

"He is the product of the relationship between Jaime and Cersei."

"You've spent too much time a prisoner, Kevan. You've fallen for Stannis' filth."

"No. It's true. I've known since Tommen was born. So has Genna, ask her."

The mighty Tywin Lannister collapsed into his chair. "That is a filthy lie. I will not hear this any longer, get out."

"Tywin, we must give up now. You have fought admirably, but for a lie. We must save what lives we can, Joffrey can still inherit the Rock..."

"I said out! Go! I wonder why I saved you. I honoured you, made you a Lord, trusted you, but you now feed me Stannis' lies and counsel me to surrender my legacy. I will not, I tell you! Leave, Kevan! You are no kin of mine, you are disowned, your lands and titles are forfeit. Go to Stannis, if you love him so much, or flee to the Free Cities and rot, I care not. If I see you again or you are found in my lands, I will have you killed and your head on a spike."

As Kevan turned and left, he heard his brother break down into a fit of coughing. He summoned a guard, "Lord Tywin is ill, fetch a maester." He walked out through the courtyard to where he mounted his horse and rode out to his tent. News of his dismissal would get out eventually, best not to be here when it happened. He was strangely calm. He had to leave, but where to go? Tywin would write to the Rock informing them of his dismissal. The Disputed Lands? He could join a sellsword company, though he was no more than a hedge knight now. No. He had to make something better for his sons, and that mean joining one of the Baratheon brothers. Stannis, it had to be. He had served one usurper, no more. He called his sons to him.

"Lads. Your great-uncle Tywin has disowned us. We have been cast from House Lannister."

Martyn spoke first, "What now father?"

"I will join Stannis and fight. I'm going to send your mother and sister to Pentos, I have enough coin to keep you there as well if you wish, where you will be safe."

"No father, we'll fight." Willem stood a little taller, "We won't hide." Martyn nodded in agreement.

"I'm proud of you. Now come with me, we need to see if any of our men remain loyal."

The three of them walked out, to where a group of knights, mostly in Kevan's employ from before the war, had gathered.

"Sers, I have been dismissed, I'm going to join Stannis, I will not make you, but I will be eternally indebted to you should you choose to come."

There was a stunned silence. Then his sons' weapons master stepped forward, "Seems we're screwed if we stay here, and you've done well by me my lord, I'll march with you." One by one the others agreed.

"We march before sundown, and through the night, we should make Stannis' camp at Stoney Sept in two days."

A hundred men, the survivors of the two thousand he brought to war, marched out with Kevan Lannister at their head. He had sent a rider ahead with his formal letter of dismissal and disownment from Tywin, which had arrived just before they left. He hoped that the rider would prove to Stannis that his intentions were good. He didn't like turning his back on his family, but legally, they weren't anymore. He wondered what would happen to Lancel. Would he choose his father or not? He didn't know.

As Ser Kevan Lannister, ex-regent, ex-lord, houseless and disowned, rode out, he straightened his back and urged his horse forward, there was no going back now. Past the point of no return.


	30. Chapter 30: Arya II

_NOTE - Wrote this one after the last Brynden chapter, figured it was about time I posted it. To those who expressed outrage at the Blackfish's fate, let's find out more. Any constructive criticism, POV requests etc, PM me. Enjoy.  
_

_Arya_

_Ser Gregor, Dunsen, Raff the Sweetling, Ser Ilyn, Ser Meryn, Queen Cersei, Amory Lorch, Theon Greyjoy, Lewys Lydden. Valar Morghulis._

For the first few miles, she had been unable to shake her last glimpse of Lord Lydden, his smug grin splitting his wiry white beard, but over time it had faded. She couldn't remember when they had last stopped, and that had only been because her mother nearly fell from her horse in her fatigue. Her mother had recovered though, unlike her great-uncle Brynden.

Strapped to a horse, his wounds obviously beginning to fester, the Blackfish wandered in and out of consciousness. He had put up an amazing fight against the Mountain. Arya's experience of swordwork was limited, but he had appeared unstoppable, keeping out of his opponent's reach, then darting in to prick the weak points between his plates. She had even dared to hope he might succeed, but that would have been too much to ask. A group of Clegane's men rushed him, and though he killed them all, he was rent and torn, soaked in his own blood. The Mountain had ordered him thrown over a horse and so he had remained for the last three days, gradually growing worse. In his fevered state, the old man cried out, sometimes calling for his brother Hoster, sometimes apologising to someone Arya didn't know, a someone named Bethany.

"He was promised to Bethany Redwyne in his youth. After the War of the Ninepenny Kings, he broke the engagement. Some say she died of a fever, but he always blamed himself. The rumour is that he did truly love her."

"Why didn't he marry her then?"

"No-one knows. But it changed him."

The only other name he called was another woman, Tansy. Of this woman, her mother could tell her nothing, only that Hoster Tully had called out the same name on his deathbed. She thought this strange but of little importance.

The Mountain drove his men hard, cursing violently at those who lagged behind. Any attempt to discover their intended destination resulted in a similar outburst. So there they were, somewhere in the Riverlands, or so she guessed, a company of maybe twenty, exhausted and spurred on by a wounded giant. Gregor Clegane himself bore the marks of his duel with ill grace. Constantly cursing, he strangled one of his men who asked for a brief respite. To Brynden's credit, he had seriously damaged the monster. Arya had seen brutal cuts and stab wounds on the inside of the Mountain's arms and assumed they must be on his legs too, for his limp was clear and he cursed when putting weight on them.

She whispered the list before she slept, when she woke and almost all day. What had happened to Gendry and Hot Pie? She had been confined with her mother since the ill-fated meeting with Tywin Lannister and had no idea if they had tagged along with the army or not. She hoped they hadn't been killed, one thing she'd learned from her travels was that smallfolk had a tendency to die for no reason in war.

"OI! Shit-stain! Yes, you!" The cry came from the road ahead, and the company all looked up and reached for weapons. As the new arrivals rode up, their leader dismounted, and Arya suddenly recognised him. Sandor Clegane leered at her before turning to his brother.

"You abandoned Lannister at last did you?"

"No. I'm loyal. What happened to your white cloak, little brother?"

"Told them to fuck off, I'm not spending any more of life on that little shit."

"You'd better explain good, or I'm gonna have to kill you." The Mountain growled and rose, almost managing to conceal his wince as his legs staightened.

The Hound noticed his brother's weakness, and his smirk became an outright grin. "Maybe I should let you try, shit-face. I ain't bowing and scraping to anyone any more."

In a flash, both Cleganes drew their blades. As Gregor launched himself into an attack, he bawled at his men, "Stay out of this! He's mine!" Sandor's men, obviously didn't fancy their chances, so remained ahorse.

As the Hound and Mountain circled, they taunted each other.

"Did you kill father, Gregor? Did you?"

"He died in a hunting accident, I was there, I saw."

"I know it was you, I want a confession. What about Lynora? What about her? What did you do to our sister, you bastard?" His voice had risen to a hoarse bellow. He accompanied each question with a brutal swing, each of which his brother deflected. "CONFESS, YOU CUNT!"

"Fine! I killed father, took him into the woods and rammed my spear up his arse. Lynora was more interesting, but you don't want to know about that."

"What did you do to her? She was twelve! FUCKING TELL ME!" The Hound followed this with an almighty swing, which took the Mountain on his wounded leg. His wounded roar was deafening, but he thrust out his fist, and it connected sharply with Sandor's temple, and he fell like a sack of rocks. As he loomed over his fallen brother, Gregor Clegane rumbled his confession.

"Remember what I did to Elia Martell, brother? Well I got the idea from when I raped our little sister. Her screams were delicious. Filthy bitch nearly split in half when I took her, her little cunt bleeding. Then I forced her to take my seed, and took her again. She was dead by the time I took her a third time. She had quite a pair of lungs on her, even after I smashed her teeth in. I killed our father because he knew what I did to Lynora. He took me hunting to kill me, kill his monstrous son. Well, he learnt that I was stronger than him. There's your confession little brother. Now, die quietly, my head hurts." He raised his blade to finish him.

The arrow came from nowhere, but it took the Mountain in the eye. He roared like a wounded bull, staggering backwards. Men poured out of the forest, in tattered rags. Gregor's men were attacked from all sides, while the Mountain himself, despite his new wound, proceeded to slaughter his assailants. Arya was grabbed from behind and pulled from her horse. She spun round, only to find herself face to face with Harwin, the son of Winterfell's master-of-horse.

"Shhhhhh, my lady, we're here to take you away, stay still and quiet." She did as she was told when she saw her mother nod.

She heard The Mountain bellow, "Dondarrion! Come here so I can kill you again!"

A red-gold haired man answered him, "You want to try again Clegane? Very well." The man must be Lord Beric Dondarrion, who her father had sent to capture and kill Ser Gregor all those months ago. As he spoke, flames lanced up his blade and he lunged at the Mountain. There were few of Dondarrion's men left, and none of Clegane's. The men who had arrived with the Hound had galloped off upon their leader's apparent defeat. Yet the Hound was not done.

While his brother dueled Dondarrion, Sandor dragged himself up, gripping a long-bladed knife. Neither of the combatants saw him. Dondarrion was hard pressed, and eventually made his mistake. As he tripped, The Mountain roared in triumph. He was a vision of hell, drenched in blood, the remnants of an arrow jutting from his eye socket, missing an ear from Lord Dondarrion's burning sword.

"Had enough Lightning Lord? Here, I'll kill you properly this time." He placed his foot on Lord Beric's head and pushed downwards.

Harwin grabbed Arya and turned her away so she didn't see, but she heard. The agonising scream of pain, the crack and squelch, followed by another roar from the Mountain. She turned back as she heard the Hound's voice.

"Die you ugly fucker." Sandor Clegane had snuck up behind his brother and now embedded his knife in the top of his brother's head.

Without a sound, Gregor grabbed his brother to him, and began to squeeze. As he gasped, Sandor pulled his knife out and stabbed again and again at his brother's skull. The Hound turned scarlet, then purple, before the Mountain finally released his grip and fell.

Two of Dondarrion's men ran forward to help the Hound. Sandor Clegane's last words before he passed out were, "I did it Lynora, always said I would, I promised."


	31. Chapter 31: Roose

_NOTE – This chapter is a little late, should have gone up a while ago really. This is happening at the same time as Robb's doomed hostage exchange and Willas' battle with the Greyjoys. Enjoy  
_

_Roose_

If he was honest, his reception at the Twins had been comfortable, not something he was used to. Not through lack of wealth, but his own wishes. Comfort made a man weak. He had arrived, and immediately been conducted before Ser Ryman Frey, ruling in the absence of his father Lord Stevron. Ryman was a fat man, and cunning, and not the sort of man to wait patiently for his father to die as Stevron had for so long. If Roose were a betting man, which he wasn't, he might have put money on Stevron not returning from the war. Granted, that could happen anyway, but he would wager it would not be an accident. But he wasn't a betting man, gambling was a weakness and he despised weakness.

Still, when Ser Ryman requested his presence at a private meeting, he had gone out of curiosity. Only, it wasn't as private as he'd expected. In addition to Ser Ryman, his sons Edwyn and Black Walder and his other relatives Sers Aenys, Rhaegar, Jared, Symond and Lame Lothar were all present.

"What's this ser? I was told a private meeting was requested." He kept his voice down, he always did. Men like the Greatjon would huff and puff until they were blue in the face, but not Roose Bolton. Whispering meant men had to pay attention to what he said for fear of missing it. It also carried a hint of menace, and he liked that. Flaying may be outlawed, but so was the Right to First Night and the Umbers still practised that. He loved the glimpse of fear that crossed people's faces when they wondered if, deep in the Dreadfort's extensive dungeons, there really was a chamber where the Boltons hung the skins of their enemies, and whether Lord Roose himself was a practitioner of that particular form of torture. He saw that look on the faces of many of the Freys present. He didn't like Freys, they were weasels all, with no backbone. He knew he could break them all before even applying the knife. He loved the fear on their faces, but did not smile. No, smiling would show emotion, and Roose Bolton had no emotions. Or at least it suited him that the world should think that.

"My apologies, my lord, but the matter is of utmost importance to all here. When searching my late grandfather's personal effects, I found a letter from a most interesting source. Lord Tywin Lannister. The letter says that you had one too."

Ah, the halfwits had found it, but would they act on it? "I did."

"It makes the most interesting offer, Paramouncy of the Riverlands for House Frey, and Paramouncy of the North for the Boltons."

"It does." Lord Walder would have acted, Lord Stevron wouldn't, would Ser Ryman?

"Well, it seems to us that this is a very profitable exchange given the effort required of us."

"And that is?" He knew full well.

"A strike. The Lannisters are falling back, but Lord Tywin is far from finished. All we need do is open new fronts."

"What of your lord, Ser?"

"My father is clumsy, and too trusting, it is highly unlikely that he will ever see the Twins again."

"I know what you suggest. What would be my role in this?"

"I am no fool my lord, I know that this letter is why you came here. I know why you chose men only from those houses of the North that would choose Bolton over Stark."

_Ah good, he's not quite as stupid as he looks._

"What you suggest is treason, my lord Ryman."

"Treason is measured by the victor, Lord Bolton, you know that as well as I. But I see you will not say it, so I shall. Much of our strength returned home after the attack on King's Landing, only a few hundred remain with Robb Stark. You are marching most of your men home. If House Frey takes the Riverlands, will House Bolton take the North? It is hardly a difficult task, your homeland is already in chaos, full of Ironman reavers."

For the first time in a long time, Roose Bolton broke his rule. His thin lips drew tighter, and he smiled. "We have an accord, my lord of Frey. What of Robb Stark's betrothal to your sister?"

Ser Ryman called out again, "She will get over him. My lord of Bolton, before you go, I would sound you out about something."

"Which is?"

"The rumours of a Targaryen girl, the Mad King's daughter, in Essos, with a growing army and three dragons."

"Rumours."

"The truth." Ser Aenys spoke up, " House Frey is numerous my lord, my nephew Luceon lives in Braavos, and has trading contacts in Slaver's Bay. Daenerys Targaryen is alive, with Ser Barristan Selmy and Ser Jorah Mormont at her side, and an army of Unsullied at her back."

"And the dragons?"

"Also true."

"If this is true, then it would appear that both Stannis and the Lannisters are sinking ships."

Ser Ryman took over the conversation again, "Indeed, my lord. I do not think it wise to throw away the lives of my kin and smallfolk in a pointless war. If we must fight, surely it must be on the winning side."

The pieces all slipped into place. Ryman was cleverer than Roose had expected.

"You would declare for the Targaryen?"

"Not openly. I would declare to all the world my loyalty to good king Joffrey and House Lannister, I mean, Baratheon of course."

"And write to this Targaryen girl of your true intentions."

"Indeed. I think we understand each other, Lord Bolton. The Targaryens are coming back, and we had best be on the right side when they do. We may serve Tywin Lannister for now – "

"But only as long as it is profitable."

"Now now my lord, we are not mercenaries. We will serve as long as it is wise."

The letter had been written and sent that same day, declaring to Daenerys their service and that they were beginning to conquer in her name, under the guise of Lannister loyalty. Finally, they urged her to return to Westeros with all haste. As an afterthought, they included a list of Targaryen loyalist houses, whom she should petition for support. Their new alliance was sealed with the betrothal of Lord Bolton to any Frey girl he chose, with the dowry being her weight in silver. He wedded and bedded the girl called Fat Walda there and then. That done, the Northern forces marched home.

They had reached Moat Cailin in good time, and though the old ruin was 'impregnable', the Ironborn were not at home on land, and after only two attacks, they surrendered. A raven was sent to the Dreadfort, instructing him to bring the Dreadfort's reserves south to meet him. As he leeched himself to remove excess blood, Roose made a swift assessment of the Northern houses loyalties.

All the strength of the Starks was in the South, except a few hundred under Ser Rodrik Cassel at Winterfell and Torrhen's Square and Deepwood Motte were still in Ironborn clutches. All the considerable strength of House Bolton was now back in the North. Roose commanded the largest army of any Stark bannerman, rivalled only by Lord Too-Fat-To-Sit-A-Horse Manderly. He briefly considered petitioning the fat Lord, but it would be pointless. Despite being practically southern, House Manderly were the most fervent of Stark loyalists, except possibly the Umbers. The Dustins, Ryswells and Hornwoods would follow him. Lady Dustin hated Ned Stark and his family, Lord Ryswell had wed his daughter Bethany to Roose, and their son Domeric had been Roose's only trueborn child. Hopefully, Fat Walda would change that, though he doubted Ramsay would let the child live. Speaking of Ramsay, he had assured the loyalty of the Hornwoods by forcibly wedding Lady Hornwood. Roose did not doubt the rumours of her starvation, and how she was forced to eat her own fingers in desperation. It mattered not; Ramsay was Lord of the Hornwood now. This assessment left Roose with the support of the vast majority of the troops in the North, if he could gain the Karstarks. Karhold was held by the late Lord Rickard's uncle Arnolf, who would not be best pleased at his nephew's suicide mission. True, officially Harrion Karstark was Lord of Karhold now, but Arnolf was an ambitious man, and accidents happened in war. Harrion's sister Alys was also unwed, as was Ramsay. The plan formed, Roose prepared to announce himself as Lord Paramount of the North for King Joffrey. But first, he wrote to Arnolf Karstark.

As he put pen to paper he heard the screams start. He had promised the Ironborn scum life if they surrendered, but he didn't say he wouldn't flay them first. Roose Bolton pulled the leech from his neck and pierced it with his quill. As he scratched his offer onto the parchment in his own blood, the screaming intensified.


	32. Chapter 32: Bran II

_NOTE - Only a short one, as all my Bran chapters are (He's not a character I'm fond of). Any POV requests etc, PM me. Enjoy.  
_

_Bran_

Torrhen's Square was holding out much more successfully than Winterfell had. Though Ser Rodrik had said there were far more Greyjoys in there, so it was only to be expected. He had been rather glad that he hadn't had to have Mors Umber kill Theon. As much as he knew it was justice and his duty as Lord of Winterfell, he wasn't sure he could have done it. Not after seeing Theon grovelling on the floor, covered in blood and mud and the Gods knew what else. He was glad that the Night's Watch had taken him away, but at the same time angry that Jon hadn't said goodbye before leaving. Ser Rodrik had assured him that Jon was a soldier now, not a lord, and wasn't allowed to take his time and say goodbyes, but Bran still thought he should have made the effort.

He was increasingly getting tired of his time with the army. Ser Rodrik and Mors always discussed tactics with him, but in a patronising, official way, never as if they valued, or even wanted his opinion. Osha told him that was because he was only a boy, not a man grown. He was tired of the looks the men gave him when Hodor wheeled him around in his converted barrow, or when he rode in his special saddle. He didn't want to go home either. Jojen had told him what he had to do, where he had to go. The three-eyed raven kept coming to him, almost every night now. He had to go North, to the Wall, and under it.

"Lord Brandon!" A man-at-arms burst into his tent, "Ser Rodrik said to fetch you immediately, says it's important."

"Ok, tell him I'm coming. Hodor, lift me up."

It took another twenty minutes before he had been wheeled to the command tent. Inside were gathered Mors, Ser Rodrik, the Night's Watchman Ser Alliser and two men Bran did not recognise. They could not have been more different. The first was well over six feet tall and clean-shaven, the second barely five feet and bearded. Both took a knee when he entered.

When they rose, the shorter man made his report, "My lord, I am in the service of Lord Howland Reed, who was your father's friend. I bring you news. Lord Bolton has recaptured Moat Cailin from the Greyjoys. He marches north at considerable speed with some three thousand Northmen and a thousand Freys."

"Excellent!" he cried, "Then we can truly crush the Ironborn before marching back to help Robb."

"Not excellent at all, my lord." The crannogman continued, "The force also consists of Dustins and Ryswells, bound to Bolton by blood and marriage. They are flying the banner of King Joffrey."

"What? Why?"

"Lord Tywin has offered him the North." The taller man stepped forward now. "My lord, my name is Ser Harrion Stout. I have come from Barrowton, where my family are sworn to Lady Dustin. I can confirm this man's news. Lord Bolton has written to my lady, asking her support for his war and she means to give it."

"What have we done against Lady Dustin?"

Ser Rodrik answered this, "Lady Dustin was besotted with your uncle Brandon. Your grandfather refused the match, hoping to marry his son to Catelyn Tully. Barbrey Dustin has hated your family since. As for the Ryswells, Lord Rodrik wed his second daughter Bethany to Lord Bolton and she bore his only trueborn son, Domeric. Ryswell admires Roose so much he named his youngest son after him."

Ser Harrion spoke again, "My lord, I stole out at night, damn near killed my horse. Bolton's marching his men north from the Moat, his bastard is gathering men at the Dreadfort and the Hornwood, while men are being readied at the Rills and Barrowton."

"What do we do?"

"Thank you for your loyalty Ser Harrion, I understand the risk you took. We must retreat to Winterfell," Ser Rodrik's reply was immediate, "We can regroup there and gather our loyal bannermen, the Manderlys, Mormonts, Glovers, Umbers, Cerwyns, Lockes and Flints."

"And then what?" Mors countered, "The Manderlys, Lockes and Cerwyns sent their last men south as reinforcements, and the Boltons are between us and the Flints. We must attack them before they can concentrate their forces. Kill Roose now, before he can get enough momentum."

Ser Rodrik turned to Ser Alliser, "Can we send his lordship to the Wall for safety? He'd be with his brother."

The knight showed no hint of emotion before replying, "The Night's Watch takes no part. I will take my men back to the Wall at dawn." Having said his peace, he walked out.

"Filthy shit." Mors cursed, "If the little lord cannot go to the Wall, he must go as close as possible, send him to my brother at Last Hearth. Hother'll keep him safe."

Ser Rodrik nodded, "Aye, Last Hearth. I'll send a bodyguard with you, get ready to go lad. We'll prepare to fight."

"Now?"

"Now!" It was not often Ser Rodrik lost his temper, but he seemed close now.

Not three hours later, Bran and his company were on the road. Ser Harrion Stout had been given command of the escort, despite Ser Rodrik's objections, Bran had insisted. Jojen, Meera, Osha and Hodor were going too, and Summer ran alongside Bran's horse. The escort itself consisted of ten Stark men and twenty Umbers, all mounted. They had only one wagon, containing Bran's converted wheelbarrow, some spare arrows and spears, and food. Ser Harrion had strict orders to go to Last Hearth, and only to Last Hearth, make no detours or delays, and not to communicate with anyone. This last was to ensure that they could not be given away.

"Bran, you cannot stop at Last Hearth," Jojen urged him as they rode, "You must go beyond the Wall, the three-eyed raven –"

"Can wait until my lands are safe. I have a duty Jojen, to the people and my family. What would Robb say if I lost the North? I cannot go now."

Osha, helpful as usual, chipped in, "You're not holding the North now boy, you're running away."

Jojen leaped on this, "See Bran? Even Osha agrees."

The wildling's response was fierce, "I do not. I ain't going back over the Wall. You'll never get past it anyway, it's all guarded."

"Enough, both of you. We are going to Last Hearth until the North is secure. Then we will go over the Wall."

Ser Harrion turned around in his saddle, "I've been instructed to keep you at Last Hearth my lord."

"I am just that, your lord. We shall see about who goes where when."

They continued on in silence. Bran knew it would be hard to ask it of his friends, and harder to escape Ser Harrion, but he knew he had to go. Yet he couldn't leave the North as it was, it would be almost as bad as giving it to Lord Bolton and his traitors.


	33. Chapter 33: Kevan V

_NOTE - Here it is, the chapter I've wanted to write since I started. Quite a long one, hopefully makes up for the short Bran chapter posted earlier today. Hope you enjoy.  
_

_Kevan_

As he rode into the town of Stoney Sept, he was pelted with rocks, vegetables and, unsurprisingly, shit. Then again, he didn't blame them. They had been fighting against his family for so long, and here he was, just walking into their army, asking for trouble. He had had a reply from Stannis, instructing him to enter the town, and come to meet him in the town hall.

As he entered the building, he left his sons and followers outside as instructed, before following the guard to meet Stannis. Upon entering the room, he took a knee.

"Interesting that you kneel now Ser Kevan, but did not at my coronation." Stannis' voice was dry and sharp.

Kevan looked around the room, full of Stannis' oldest supporters, Royces, Waynwoods and Florents. _I shall have to judge my words carefully_.

"At the time, I was sworn to Joffrey, your grace, so could not bow. Now I am sworn to no-one and it is my choice."

"Kill him, your grace." A young man in Florent colours leapt up and pointed accusingly, "He is a traitor sent to spy against us."

"Be silent Imry. Do you honestly believe that Tywin Lannister is going to risk so much to get his brother back, and then hand him back over? We know about the ambush, what happened?"

"I knew nothing about it, how could I? Lydden's men attacked from all sides, the Blackfish and Ladies Catelyn and Arya were the only ones to escape."

"Where are they now?"

"No-one knows, but patrols were sent out after them, and The Mountain's men are in the area."

"This we know, they've been killing off my scouts. I received your letter Ser, including your formal dismissal. It would appear you are naught but a disgraced household knight any more. Why should I take you into my service?"

"I know my family, I know my brother. My name commands some influence still in the men of the West, knowing I am with you will weaken their resolve, it is already wavering. I bring some few hundred men to you from my brother's host, men who are loyal to me, as proven by their presence here. You hold Sers Addam and Lyle in your custody, and two of Lord Brax's sons, I am confident I can deliver their loyalty also. Two of Joffrey's remaining Kingsguard are also my men, and I will send for them should you wish it."

"And what would you have from me in return for this service?"

"I would have you pardon my sons and I, even Lancel, who now holds Dragonstone against you, where Joffrey and his family are now in hiding, Sansa Stark also. At your command I will write to him and instruct him to yield the castle. I ask that you give me a small holdfast to raise my children and live out my days quietly."

"This is news. I trust that your son would not allow them to escape before delivering them?"

"Not if I tell him otherwise. I would ask also, your grace, that no harm come to Tommen, or Myrcella in Dorne. They are but children."

"You ask no pardon for Joffrey?"

"No, he is a monster, and worse even than his mother. I would not see him live, your grace."

"While Tommen and Myrcella live there will always be a threat against my throne. Why should I let that happen?"

"They are children, innocents."

"So is my daughter Shireen, but Cersei would flay her to see her son on the Iron Throne."

"Give them to me to keep safe then. I will raise them and see they do not become a threat to you."

"Your ask a lot ser. I will accept your terms, with conditions."

"Name them, your grace."

"You and your men will go under the banner you bore as Regent, I will have no golden lions in my camp, I do not need a riot amongst my soldiers."

"Done. The new banner was my son's idea, and I have grown rather attached to it."

"Secondly, you must understand that I cannot pardon your brother, or his children. I would face a rebellion from the Starks and most all others."

Kevan sighed, "As you wish, your grace." He didn't mind Cersei dying and knew Tywin would die fighting rather than surrender, but Tyrion and Jaime he had hoped to save.

"Thirdly, you will return Dragonstone to me."

"Of course your grace

"Finally, you will not only deliver me the loyalty of the Western knights I hold captive, but the entire Westerlands."

"I do not understand, your grace."

"The Westerlands have been under Lannister rule since before the Targaryens landed. If I impose one of my knights or lords to rule them, there will be open bloodshed before the year is out. Yet I cannot pardon your father, the Imp or the Kingslayer, Joffrey and Cersei must die and Tommen and Myrcella are bastard-born. Who is next-in-line to Casterly Rock?"

He couldn't possibly mean that could he? "I am, your grace, or I was, before my disinheritance."

"If you and yours serve me well in the remainder of this war, and on the understanding that my line will have the loyalty and allegiance of yours until they both die out, I will make you Lord Kevan Lannister of Casterly Rock, Lord Paramount of the Westerlands and Warden of the West."

"Your grace, I must protest!" Ser Imry Florent raised a hand in objection.

"Protest in silence, Ser. This must be done. What say you, Ser Kevan?"

"Your grace, you honour me and mine. We shall serve you loyally and well."

"Swear it. Swear it now in front of all these witnesses."

He knew the fealty oath by heart, all knights did. "I, Ser Kevan Lannister, on my own behalf and on behalf of my kin, do solemnly swear fealty to King Stannis Baratheon, First of his Name, King of the Andals, the Rhoynar and the First Men, Lord of the Seven Kingdoms and Protector of the Realm, and all his line, for as long as we shall last. We shall fight for him and die for him, we shall provide wise counsel, we shall follow his commands. Upon my honour as a knight, and by the Seven, I do swear this."

"Rise my Lord of Lannister, go and see to your men."

As he left the King's presence, Kevan struggled to take it in. In less than an hour he had gone from outcast knight to rebel Lord and traitor to his house. Gods be good, he would see his sons grown and fit to inherit. Lancel as Lord of Casterly Rock. The thought shocked him, work would need to be done there. Willem and Martyn would find good marriages and help Lancel as he had helped Tywin. No, best not to think about that, it would do him no good.

He was amazed at the speed at which he was accepted into Stannis' confidence. Within two days he was attending war councils and offering details of his brother's defences and how best to deal with those traitors remaining. It felt wrong to refer to his kin as traitors, and to inform on his family, but he would remind himself that he owed Tywin nothing. He had served faithfully all his life, served with distinction, especially recently. His loyalty had been unshakeable, even when he had known he was serving a lie. What had he been given in return? Exile, damnation, disinheritance and shame, all for providing honest counsel. He could tell Tywin was not himself, but even then his response had seemed extreme. No, he would not hold loyalty to them any longer. Everything he had now was and would be due to his own work. His men had chosen him over his brother, his sons were loyal and his family were now safe from Stannis' wrath, and would be well looked after for the foreseeable future.

The war council for that evening had begun badly. The Florents seemed dead set on having his head on a spike, Ser Axell had even gone so far as to claim that he was somehow responsible for Stannis' wife Selyse's death. Stannis had seen through this and ordered Axell's removal, but it had unnerved Kevan. He had only ever done as ordered. Ser Axell seemed to have taken his capture on Dragonstone and subsequent shipping to King's Landing very badly, even though he had been given luxurious apartments overlooking the sea.

As they concluded, the King ran over the plan one final time, "Lord Stark's forces will march in from the north and we will march up to meet them. We shall converge on Pinkmaiden and force battle. If they will not meet us, we shall besiege them and prepare for an assault. Any questions?"

"Your Grace, any news of the Stark ladies and the Blackfish?" Kevan did not recognise the speaker, though he wore the badge of House Royce.

"Yes actually Andar, the men I sent with the Hound returned this morning. They did as instructed and accompanied Clegane, and they met The Mountain's men in the woods directly between us and Pinkmaiden, heading for Lord Tywin's encampment. The captain insists that Ser Gregor had in his company two ladies in wolfskin cloaks, and swears he saw the Blackfish unconscious and thrown over a horse, looking to be badly wounded. He led his men away to report this rather than stay and try to recover them, he has been whipped for his stupidity. Now we know not whether the Hound was victorious and has the Starks and Ser Brynden, or if he is now dead and the captives are back in Lord Tywin's tender care. That is all, my lords, dismissed. Lord Lannister, remain."

As requested, Kevan stayed until the other men had left, noting the suspicious looks the Florents graced him with.

"Do not mind Ser Axell. He has it in his head that his years of service as my castellan on Dragonstone in peacetime has earned him some reward, never mind that he has been next to useless in the war effort. First he decided that he should be my Hand, when I chose Davos, he decided he should have the West. I plan to give him a small holding in the Reach, it is appropriate for the service he has done me in the war."

"He swore you loyalty when his lord brother did not."

"Indeed he did, but that is all he has done, no more. Enough of Axell, I want you to start putting in your end of the agreement, you shall speak to the western knights we have captive and make them see sense. Tomorrow, if not today."

"I shall go immediately, your grace."

"Also, you will send me one of your sons. It is customary for a King to have two squires, and I have just the one. Devan Seaworth is a good lad but I think he would appreciate the help."

"You want one of my boys for your squire?"

"Yes, whichever of them wishes. The other will go to the Stormlands."

"Why the Stormlands, your grace?"

"He will serve as Lord Swann's squire." Kevan understood now, Stannis did not trust him. By giving his boys these 'honours' he was holding them hostage to their father's good behaviour, and by sending one of them to the Stormlands, he was also splitting them up. Yet he could not refuse.

"As you command, your grace. I shall talk to them tonight and give you them tomorrow."

"If they do well, they will both be knighted."

"Thank you my King. Might I ask something of you?"

"You might ask."

"You wish me to send to my men in Joffrey's Kingsguard and have them abandon him."

"I ordered it, has it been done?"

"Not yet, I had news I could not raise in front of the others."

"What is that?"

"Joffrey is not on Dragonstone."

"What?"

"Nor is Cersei, or Tyrion or Tommen. Lancel writes that they fled in the dead of night aboard a small ship called _Lionstar_ and made for Casterly Rock via Sunspear to collect Myrcella. Counting the time taken for the news to reach me, seeing as it was flown to Riverrun where I was captive before being sent here, they are probably approaching Dorne by now."

Stannis ground his teeth. "They have escaped me Kevan. Did you let them go?"

"How could I your grace? Lancel wrote the letter nearly two weeks ago, when I was a captive at Riverrun. The question is what to do now?"

"My ships will never catch them now. Write to your son, have him yield Dragonstone. Then write to your men in Joffrey's Kingsguard at Sunspear, have them prepare to abandon the bastard."

"As you command. With your permission, your grace?"

"Speak."

"Might I instruct them to bring Tommen and Myrcella with them should they get an opportune moment?"

"I see no harm in that. Do as you will, but you will bring them before me when they arrive. Go."

"Your Grace." He bowed as he left.

When the four western knights were brought into his tent, they looked at him coldly.

"Sers, do sit."

Ser Artos Brax spoke for them. "Why, my lord?" He made the courtesy sound like a curse.

"I wish to speak with you."

"We can speak standing up."

"Very well. King Stannis had named me his Warden of the West, and part of this agreement was that I was to secure your loyalty."

"So you can walk into your brother's castle over his dead body."

"Ser Artos, your loyalty is admirable, I have done nothing to deserve your vehemence. My terms to Stannis requested a small holdfast to raise my children in, but he chose me for this position rather than Axell Florent."

"You would betray your kin, which makes you a traitor."

"Artos, shut up," Ser Addam waded in to the growing dispute. "You have never served with Kevan, I have. I fought with him on Dragonstone, I fought for him in King's Landing. I defied the King and the Queen Regent because this man asked me to. He didn't order me like Tywin or Jaime would, he asked it of me, and I was glad to do so and I would do so again, there is no Lannister more worthy of our loyalty. By the Seven, Strongboar here nearly got himself killed fighting the Hound for him."

"It was just a few scratches and flesh wounds, nothing major." Ser Lyle brushed over the duel which nearly killed both combatants. "Addam's right. " He turned to Kevan, "I'll fight for you, my lord. Not Stannis, you." He took a knee.

"As will I." Ser Addam joined him on the ground.

Kevan turned his gaze to the Brax brothers. "Ser Artos, Ser Flement. Your brother Ser Robert fought with me on Dragonstone too. He is a good and loyal man, now in Joffrey's Kingsguard. He took the position for two reasons, because he wanted to be free from marriage pressures given his … preferences, and because I asked him too. The King has bid me summon Robert and his lover Ser Steffon and order them to leave Joffrey, bringing Tommen and Myrcella with them. I insisted upon pardons for them before I agreed."

Ser Flement knelt first, "Come on brother, it's this or back to that cell."

Artos knelt as reluctantly as possible, "Very well, but do not ask me to fight my father."

"I would not ask that of any man."

Having received oaths of fealty from his four new knights, Kevan told them of his plans and sent for his sons. When Willem and Martyn arrived, they listened dutifully as he told them of the King's instructions.

"So we are to be hostages then." Willem had always had the more political mind of the two, while Martyn was the better sword; they complimented each other very well.

"It appears so, but I could not refuse him. It only remains for you to choose which of you will go to the Stormlands and which will remain here."

Martyn responded immediately, "I'll go to the Stormlands. They say Lord Swann always leads from the front; his squire will have to follow him. I'm the better sword of us, it should be me."

Willem's response was swift, "If I go to the King, I can pick up more of the developments of the war from being at his side. Also, I've spoken to Devan a couple of times since we arrived, he seems like he'll teach me what I need to do."

"As long as you're sure. Willem, you will be with the army, so I will be able to keep an eye on you. Martyn, you are going far away, well beyond my reach. To that end, I am sending these three knights with you, Ser Addam, Ser Lyle and Ser Flement." He indicated them as he spoke, "They will go with you and keep you safe until you reach Lord Swann. There they will leave you, as they have their own task to complete, but we'll get to that in a moment."

Ser Artos stepped forward, "What of me, my lord?"

"I would like you to remain here Ser, I need an experienced man as my second. I don't have many troops here, but they still need the discipline."

"As you wish my lord."

Martyn obviously couldn't contain his curiosity further, "What's their task father?"

"This is a highly secret mission, entrusted to me by the King himself. You must tell no-one, not the knights, not the men, and most certainly not the squires. Promise me."

They both promised.

"Sers Addam, Lyle and Flement will take thirty men and deliver you, Martyn, to Lord Swann. Then they will ride south to Yronwood. Lord Anders has promised Stannis his aid and has closed the Boneway, making it impossible for Martell forces to leave Dorne without a fight. Lord Yronwood can only hold the passes for about a week once the Martells arrive, so they will have to be swift. Once in Dorne, they will tell Prince Doran that they were sent by Lord Tywin to protect Myrcella. Hopefully, when they arrive Joffrey's ship will have landed. When they get the chance, with the collaboration of two of Joffrey's Kingsguard, they will kidnap Cersei, Joffrey, Tyrion, Tommen, Myrcella and Sansa Stark. Once that is accomplished, they will be met on the coast of the Dornish Sea by ships of Stannis' fleet from King's Landing. These ships will bring them to the capital, thus enabling us to end the war."

"What will happen to them?"

"Joffrey and Cersei will be trialed and killed for treason. The King also wants to kill Tyrion, but I will try to save his life. His Grace has promised that Tommen and Myrcella will be released into my care, though they will have to acknowledge that they are bastard-born and publicly give up any claim to the Iron Throne."

"So they'll come and live with us in Casterly Rock?"

"Gods be good, yes. Go on, get ready, you leave in the morning."

He hoped that it would all go according to the plan. He didn't see why it shouldn't; he was sending his best knights to do the job. Now he just had to convince Stannis to spare Tyrion, but the King was pretty keen on having his head off. Kevan chuckled, he'd have to get behind Cersei in the queue for that one.


	34. Chapter 34: Balon II

_NOTE - Here's another longer one. Enjoy.  
_

_Balon_

Gods he loved boar. He had eaten far too much of it last night and now felt he couldn't move, an impression also helped by the banging headache he had acquired from his excessive drinking. He mentally scolded himself, but then relented, it had been his wedding after all. It had seemed that the Lady of Blackhaven had remembered him after all, and what a reception he had received. Not three days after his arrival he proposed and they were wed two days later. What's more, she had promised him her soldiers. There had been some disagreement from the higher-ranking members of her household, who had spent their lives serving House Dondarrion. However, when Balon produced his royal letter of appointment, and that of his father to Lord Paramount, these stalwarts accepted him as lord, some with more reluctance than others.

The wedding had been a bit too extravagant for his tastes, he had after all grown up with his puritanical father and his disdain for excessive luxury, but Allyria insisted. His lady wife. He knew how lucky he was, a marriage for love was rare enough in his situation, but one for both love and political gain was nearly impossible. She had not forgotten him, the man she gave her maidenhead to in her betrothed's bed. He smiled at the recollection, as he always did. He rolled over and embraced her sleeping form.

When he awoke again, sunlight was streaming through the window onto the bed, and she was standing over him, fully dressed. Gods she was beautiful. Men said that her sister Ashara had been more so, but he begged leave to disagree. As with all women renowned for their beauty, they were always somewhat disappointing in the flesh, a prime example being Cersei Lannister. Balon preferred the understated beauty to the renowned any day.

"Come on husband, get up. Your new bannermen have requested an audience."

"I got married last night, can I not have one day for other things?" He reached for her behind as he levered himself up.

"As much as I would love to, I doubt your father would approve of your delaying."

"No I suppose not. Where are they?"

"In Beric's, I mean, _your_ solar."

"I'll dress and meet them. Could you send for my uncle Clifford please?"

"Of course my love, but why do you call him uncle?"

"Because when Donnel and I were little, uncle was always easier than third cousin three times removed, and because he taught us everything we know about swordsmanship."

As his wife left, he stood and reached for his trunk. Filled with clothes for wearing under armour or while riding, he had only one clean set of formal clothing remaining. As he stood in front of the mirror, he traced the scar across his chest with his index finger. His chest hair had grown back from when Maester Benedict had shaved it in order to operate, but the incision remained. The chunk of broken training shield they had extracted had been impressive in its size, and he had kept it on the wall in his room in Stonehelm ever since.

His thoughts wandered to his last day there, standing atop the East Tower, overlooking the Slayne, the black and white stone cold on his hand. His father had gathered his men and their tents were arrayed on the river bend. Looking to the south, he could see the ships sailing up from Swanton. The small port was ruled by the Swanns of Stonehelm, and had been since Rolland Swann had founded it in the Age of Heroes, when the Swanns had been Kings of the Slayne. It had been ruled by the knight Ser Byram Swann, another cousin, in Lord Gulian's name as long as Balon could remember, though Byram was not an old man. Now he had responded to his lord's summons with his fleet. Though the ships of House Swann were primarily trading and fishing vessels, there was a squadron of eight war galleys, which could now be seen on the horizon. Descending from the tower, he had then joined his father as he rode through the camp, surveying his troops.

"Why has Ser Byram brought his ships up the river, father?"

"To take two hundred men with him to Estermont."

"But the Estermonts have already declared for Stannis, Lord Eldon is in King's Landing even now."

"He is not to attack, he is going to link up with Ser Alyn Estermont's forces before moving on Rain House. Lord Wylde's castellan has refused to acknowledge me as Lord Paramount, so we shall humble him."

"Ah, how did you secure Lord Estermont's support?"

"You will be taking his great-grandson Alton as your squire."

Snapped back to the present, he quickly pulled on his coat, emblazoned with his family sigil and strapped on his sword, the hilt shaped like a swan in flight. He had his winged helmet with him, but felt it inappropriate for this meeting. He longed to wear it though, had done since he'd had it made in King's Landing.

He walked into the solar to be greeted by a group of Lord Dondarrion's old counsellors. These were the men who had opposed his new position. Ser Manfrey Dondarrion was the aged castellan who had led the protest, though he himself was only a Dondarrion through his legitimisation by King Jaeherys II, the Mad King's father. The others were his bastard Ryam Storm, the captain of guard Ser Hugh Kellington and his brother Ser Karyl. Those gathered who were Balon's supporters were Ser Clifford, his wife Allyria, his squire Alton Estermont, who had arrived just in time for the wedding, and the castle's maester, Ambrose by name.

Ser Manfrey greeted him first, "My lord, we have agreed to accept you as our lord, with two conditions."

"Name them ser."

"We anticipate the changing of your sigil from that of your father to your own, now you have your own seat. We request that you incorporate the Dondarrion sigil in some way, though the details we leave to you."

"This seems more than reasonable, I accept. The second condition?"

Ser Hugh stepped forward, "We would prefer the Dondarrion name not become extinct. To this end we request that you grant lands to Ser Manfrey, and obtain a legitimisation and knighthood from the King for his son Ryam."

The old bastard was clever, Balon realised. Under Lord Beric, he would have remained castellan for the rest of his life, with his bastard son probably being cast out to try his chances as a sellsword upon his death. Now though, he would secure his family with some lands for income. He thought he knew which lands Manfrey would want, but decided to ask anyway.

"Which lands would you suggest ser?" He directed the question to Ser Hugh.

"Ser Amos Redmond has refused to send you his men, claiming you have no right to command them. We would suggest you give Ser Manfrey his lands."

Of course. "The legitimisation will be subject to King Stannis' approval, though I will request it. The grant of lands will likewise have to be verified, but by my father. As for the knighthood, I can deal with that right here and now if you wish, any knight can make a knight. Though perhaps later may be more appropriate."

"Thank you for your acceptance my lord." Ser Manfrey seemed genuine enough, but his smile matched that of his son, a victorious smirk.

"Moving on gentlemen. I will take all my soldiers, excluding the one hundred I will leave here, to Nightsong. The Carons are still in Renly's service, so I will make them see sense. All of you will accompany me, except my lady wife and Maester Ambrose."

"My lord, with respect, I am old and would only be a hindrance on a campaign such as this." Ser Manfrey even did a good job of enhancing his stoop and gesturing arthritically.

"I assure you, you will not ser. I will require your experience on the battlefield."

He scowled, but remained courteous in his words, "As you wish my lord."

As they left, Ambrose lingered, as did Ser Clifford and young Alton.

"How can I help maester?"

"I would advise you against trusting either Ser Manfrey or Ryam. He believes that as he is the last man bearing the name Dondarrion, he should rule Blackhaven."

"Oh don't worry, I wouldn't trust him as far as I could spit him, that's why he's not staying here. Uncle, could you keep an eye on them when we march?"

Ser Clifford grinned and rumbled his assent. "With your permission my lord, might I leave and gather the men? A route march will get 'em in shape."

"Of course." Discipline and training were something disdained by most houses, but the Swanns had always encouraged these aspects of soldiering, and under Lord Gulian, this had gone from general adherence to essential necessity.

As the knight left, he turned to Alton, "What's up lad?" It felt odd calling someone 'lad', he was twenty, only seven years older than Alton.

"If it please my lord, Ser Clifford said you would wish to show me what would be required of me while in your service. I've never been a squire before, so its all new to me." He was a relatively handsome boy, with the light brown hair and slight build that were distinctive of his house. Despite his youth, he had a thin line of fluff on his top lip.

"Ah, yes. To be truthful, I've never had a squire before so this is new to me too. Come with me."

He led Alton to the armoury, where Allyria had said they'd put his armour. He took a few minutes to find it, but there it was, in the largest alcove. He had two sets, his mail with partial plate for battle, and his ornamental full plate. The ornamental was his pride and joy, from the winged helmet to the ornate master-crafted breastplate inlaid with obsidian and pearl swans. He lifted the helmet down and gave it to the squire, who gazed at it in awe. Balon loved it, crafted in the likeness of a swan, its silver wings spread out from the cheek guards and arced up to almost meet above the top of the helm. A swan's neck and head rose from above the nose guard.

"Do I have to shine all of this?" Terror was the best description for the look in Alton's eyes.

"Not often, I've not had reason to wear it yet, and future occasions will be rare, so don't worry. This is the one you'll need to keep clean," he said, indicating the mail and partial plate. A shirt of ringmail with plate for his forearms, shins, shoulders and chest, with another swan helm. Along with this one was a surcoat bearing his house sigil, and a cloak with the same symbols. "This is the one I wear in battle. It allows more freedom to move. What relation to Lord Estermont did you say you were?"

"Lord Eldon's great-grandson, my lord. His son Ser Aemon is my grandfather, and his son Ser Alyn is my father."

"Well, I bet that get's confusing."

"It used to my Lord, but I've got used to it. It's even more complicated when you add my great-uncle Ser Lomas and his family."

They rode out three days later, with the new banner of House Swann of Blackhaven flying above the army, countercharged black and white swans, as per the traditional Swann sigil, but with black and white stars and a bolt of purple lightning, signifying House Dondarrion.

Though a banner had been made in haste, there had been no time to make surcoats for the troops, or even Balon himself. Therefore, the army consisted of men in Swann and Dondarrion colours. They marched south-east. Nightsong was a good four days march, but he knew they would be there before Lord Caron knew they were headed there. Balon had met Bryce Caron when he was just a knight, and had always been more talk than walk, even if he was a damn good swordsman.

He wondered if his brother had left Renly yet, and if so, if the pretender King had realised what the Swanns were up to. Lord Gulian had decided to tactically split his troops in order to bring as many houses to him as possible, as quickly as possible. Balon had been charged with claiming the Marches, and after taking Nightsong, that would leave only Harvest Hall, the seat of the Selmys.

With the Estermonts already declared for Stannis, and Lady Mertyns having promised her service and summoned her men back from Renly's force, only Rain House stood against them on Cape Wrath, and Ser Byram Swann and Ser Andrew Estermont were bringing the fleets and some more men to subdue it. The real challenge would be Renly's hardcore supporters in the north around Storm's End. Hence, his father had led the bulk of his men there personally. He had said that his path would take him past Crow's Nest, the seat of House Morrigen, another of Renly's bannermen, so that would be another house behind them.

As he surveyed the walls of Nightsong, he decided that a frontal assault would be easiest. Lord Caron had left only the bare minimum of men to guard his home, such that Balon was surprised they hadn't surrendered. The castellan must be a bloody-minded old stoat.

They stormed the walls at dawn and he led from the front. He launched himself up the ladder at the head of the Dondarrion men, and heard the dull thud as Ser Hugh Kellington's ram bashed at the gate. The attack there was a distraction, while Ser Clifford led an elite party of Swann soldiers over the south wall, to seize the Singing Tower.

He easily deflected the sword that arced towards his head as he reached the wall's summit, following it with a sharp shove with his shield. He heard his attacker shriek as he fell from the wall. He lost all sense of his being, as he had at King's Landing, and his entire existence was reduced to the sword in his hand and the enemy before him. Block, lunge, backhand swing, step forward, parry, shield up, push, lunge, upward swing.

He heard the horn and somehow managed to stop himself cleaving the man in front of him in two. All along the walls, the last of the Caron defenders lay down their arms. As he walked into the main courtyard, he was met by Ser Clifford and his soldiers, and surprisingly, a woman.

"Found her in the Singing Tower, my lord."

He turned towards her and asked, "And who might you be, my lady?"

"My name is Cassana Storm, my lord. I am Lord Bryce's half-brother Ser Rolland Storm's wife."

"Who is your sire, my lady?"

"Lord Gulian Swann, my lord. Lord Bryce left me in command of the castle, said there wouldn't be any attacks while he was gone."

"Well, he was mistaken. I am made Lord Balon Swann of Blackhaven, by the grace of King Stannis Baratheon, First of his Name. Your castle has been claimed in his name, any and all co-operation you can give will be most appreciated. You and your people shall be left unmolested as long as you do not cause trouble. You will write to your lord and tell him that you have yielded the castle to me - wait. Did you say Lord Gulian _Swann_?"

"Yes, my lord."

Why hadn't his father ever mentioned her?

"Who was your mother?"

"My mother was a miller's daughter in Weeping Town. His lordship said he could never acknowledge me in public, as then the world would know he had not remained loyal to his wife, and he knew what it would do to his sons. I have only met him once, when he told me of this marriage he had arranged."

"Excuse me, my lady. I thank you for your co-operation, I must see to my men. Uncle, see that she is comfortable."

Without waiting for an answer, he wheeled around and walked away, his mind spinning. He had a natural half-sister? Why didn't his father tell him? Did Donnel know? Did Gawen and Clifford know? She was older than he was, but younger than Donnel, he guessed. How did it happen? What had occurred that had made the ultra-restrained Gulian Swann forget his vows? He had so many questions.

Somehow, he had made it to the top of the Singing Tower. He looked out to the north-east, in the direction of Crow's Nest and his father's army. He would have the answers. He would talk to Cassana on the morrow, he resolved.


	35. Chapter 35: Davos VII

NOTE_ \- Thank you for the continuing kind reviews, to those who review every chapter, or just on occasion, all are appreciated. Back to King's Landing this time, and another longer one. Today is the day of the beginning of Season 5 of the HBO TV Show, so there will hopefully be another one up later, if I get round to finishing it! Enjoy, review, favourite and all that jazz. Not done of these for a while so ... **DISCLAIMER - **I own nothing except the characters I invent, and while I try to stay true to GRRM's portrayal of characters, the ones I invent I can do with as I wish.  
_

_Davos_

The ship had taken over two hours to limp into the harbour and dock, but Davos understood why. Battered by storms, obviously, the mast barely standing, broken spars everywhere, and it appeared to have very little rudder control. But the gold stag on green flew proudly from the mast. _Renly. _It could only be Renly's, no-one else would fly that banner or sail a ship called _Maid Margaery_. Whether the Tyrell girl was or not, Davos did not know, but he knew of Renly's preferences as much as anyone.

He approached the ship with a guard of Gold Cloaks, led by Ser Andrew Estermont. The knight had volunteered to Ser Andar Royce for service, and had been given command of the Hand's personal detachment. Leaving the guards behind, Davos and Andrew walked swiftly to the bottom of the gangplank, where a knight and a few soldiers stood.

"My name is Ser Corliss Penny. I am in the service of King Renly's castellan at Storm's End, Ser Cortnay Penrose."

"Why are you here ser?"

"Ser Cortnay bid me bring something here, that it would be safe from the advancing Swann forces."

"So he decided it would be best brought to King's Landing, where Stannis is King, than to Highgarden, where Renly is King? You must forgive me if I find that a little far-fetched ser."

"I assure you, it is the truth my lord." He leaned in and added in a whisper, "Best explained in private, my lord."

"If you insist ser. Present yourself at the Small Council chamber at the third hour, and we shall receive you. Your men remain on this ship."

"Might I bring my squire, my lord Hand? He's very eager to see the capital."

"As you wish, but the rest stay here."

As Davos turned and left, he wondered what Ser Corliss could possibly have that required a private audience. he would find out he was sure, but for now, he had other matters to attend to. He and his guards moved down the docks to a pair of ships, these ones definitely Stannis'. _The Wraith _and _Lady Marya _had been with Stannis from the beginning. They were two of House Seaworth's three ships, the other being Davos' _Black Betha_. Not warships like Davos' ship, but low, sleek and fast. Stannis had sent a mission requiring his most loyal captains and crews, and as Davos could not go himself, he was trusting the mission to the captains of these ships, his sons Dale and Allard.

They awaited him at the prow of _The Wraith_.

"Father, where are we going? It can't be to a fight, you'd have given us _Betha _for that." Allard had always been the rashest of his sons, and could never shut up.

"No. You're doing a bit of legalised smuggling. I cannot go so I'm sending you. You are to sail to the northernmost tip of the Broken Arm of Dorne. Here you will wait and collect a party of men sworn to Lord Kevan Lannister, who has recently joined our cause. Do not ask any questions about their mission and who or what they have with them, it will be safer for you to not know. Just bring them here, and when you arrive, send a man up to the Keep. I will come and take them off your hands."

"Is that all?"

"Yes. On no account do you dock anywhere, or-

"Father, we know how to smuggle. We learnt from the best."

"Well, I am a bit out of practice. Go on lads, get ready, I want you gone by noon."

"Yes father."

They were good lads, he thought as he headed back up to the castle, and would do the King proud. Before the King had left Davos had requested permission from him to build two more war galleys, for his sons Matthos and Maric to command. They had served the King well, and Stannis recognised it, and had granted permission to build four ships, two to replace the smuggling ships his elder sons captained. Davos had not been sure whether Dale and Allard would give up their 'girls' as they called them, but Stannis had insisted, so he had ordered the construction to begin. He had been to check on the work the previous day, and had been very impressed. The ships would be the size of Stannis' personal galley, _Fury_, and two of them were nearly complete. They would be put to good use, providing naval defence for the capital while most of the fleet invested Dragonstone, and serving in the front line when the fleet moved to combat the fleets of the Arbor or the Ironborn.

He had been right, and Dale and Allard had refused to give up their swifter ships, and so captains would be required for the other two, preferably men who were loyal to Davos, they were to be his ships after all. He was rather uncomfortable with the concept of having men loyal to him. He had always been the servant, Stannis' man, it was almost alien than someone would be 'Davos' man'. He had given Matthos and Maric the right to name their ships, and they had chosen _Storm Queen _and _Falcon_ respectively. The other two he had offered to Shireen to name. She had come back to him with _Sea Eagle _and _Wild Wolf_. Davos had smiled at this. She had always loved watching the sea eagles diving from the cliffs at Dragonstone, and it was not difficult to guess where the second name had come from. The Princess and the boy were now spending more time together than apart. Shireen had never shown any interest in fighting or jousting before, but whenever Rickon was at the training grounds, so was she.

He passed much of that afternoon in session with the Small Council. Lords Celtigar and Velaryon had fitted well into there posts as Masters of Laws and Coin respectively, and they had been joined by Ser Andar Royce, in his capacity as Lord Commander of the Gold Cloaks, and by Sers Axell and Erren Florent. Erren had been asked by Davos to take the position of Master of Ships, but Axell had arrived uninvited and Davos had not seen the harm. After just one meeting though, he had seen the harm. Axell was a fool, an utter imbecile, and now he was here, Davos didn't feel he could remove him, not yet anyway.

"My lord Hand, these new ships are costing a fortune. Are they truly a necessity?"

"The King had ordered them, Lord Velaryon, so they are. If needed I shall pay for one of them, but I cannot afford to pay for more than that. Perhaps loan it from the Manderlys?"

"If the King wanted them, why are they going to fly your banners, and be captained by your sons?" Axell had been a pain already on this matter, but would not let it go.

"His Grace has made Lord Davos a gift of them Axell, maybe if you wanted such rewards you should stop asking for them and earn them." Lord Celtigar had always been a no-nonsense man, and his dislike of Ser Axell was not a secret.

"They should be under my nephew's command. It is ridiculous, Erren here is the only Master of Ships in history without a ship."

Davos saw his chance here, "A fact I am most aware of. As it happens, I need someone to command _Sea Eagle_. The Princess named it, but a captain with experience is needed, I was wondering if Ser Erren would do me the honour?"

The young man's face lept. He was younger than his brother Imry and a kind soul, if manipulable. "It would be my honour, my lord."

Ser Axell was slowly turning the colour of a beetroot, and burst out, "A Florent sail under the banner of some jumped-up smuggler? Are you out of your mind, Onion Knight?"

"I would remind you, Ser Axell, that I am a Lord and the King's Hand, and you are at yet another Small Council meeting to which you were not invited."

"Of course I was invited! I am the King's most loyal servant. I was castellan of Dragonstone for over fifteen years! I should be Hand, but yo manipulated our King just as the priestess did. When I am made Lord of the Westerlands I will see you hang."

Davos knew that the only way to deal with Axell's outbursts was to remain calm and hit it where it hurt most, his pride. "The thing is Ser Axell, that you will not be Lord of the Westerlands. Ser Kevan Lannister now holds that honour. So you will not see me hang, and if I see you in these chambers again, I will send you back to Brightwater Keep, which I believe has just been captured by Garlan Tyrell. Don't worry though, I'm sure they'll have kept a cell warm for you. Now get out."

The Florent deflated, mouth gaping and didn't move. Ser Andar took him by the arm and marched him out.

Ser Erren looked very sheepish, "My lords, I apologise for my uncle's behaviour. I would like to accept your offer Lord Seaworth, and to that end, I resign my position as Master of Ships."

"You do not need to do that ser."

"I know, but there are some things that are just beyond our capabilities as people. Sailing I can do, but accounting and administration of a fleet I cannot. I thank you for the opportunity, but this is just not me." He stood and, straight-backed, followed his uncle out of the chamber.

Ser Andrew Estermont put his head around the door. "My lords, Ser Corliss Penny is outside, with his squire."

"Send him in. The lad stays outside."

Ser Corliss stood before them. He was not the most impressive specimen, but had an honest face.

"My Lord Hand, I would discuss this in private."

"Very well then. My lords, would you mind? Thank you." As the rest of the council left, glancing curiously at the knight, Ser Corliss took a seat opposite Davos.

"My lord, this is a mission of the utmost importance. Ser Cortnay Penrose charged me to bring this here to safety, knowing you to be a good man. Lord Swann's troops are descending on Storm's End and King Renly has ordered Ser Cortnay not to surrender. He feared for this, knowing Lord Swann would destroy it, to further secure Stannis' claim. He bid me beg you, as an old friend, to protect it, and keep it safe from Stannis."

"What is it ser?"

He walked to the door, opened it, and pulled in his squire. "May I present you with Edric Storm, bastard son of King Robert and ward of King Renly."

"You want me to keep Robert's bastard from my King? You are surely joking ser."

"Not at all, we were originally to sail to the Free Cities, but our ships were heavily damaged by a huge storm the day before we were to leave. Only one of them remained seaworthy, and only just. Lord Swann has sworn to kill the lad."

"Why? He is a bastard, has no claim to the throne."

"You might want to check that with the Blackfyres my lord, and Swann has a strong dislike of bastards."

"What would you have me do, ser?"

"Keep him safe, my lord. I must return to Storm's End, but I must know he is safe. Ser Cortnay trusted you, Lord Davos, please do not fail him."

Davos liked Ser Cortnay Penrose, always had. He didn't see why Swann would want to kill the lad, but he was new to noble politics. That made the decision for him.

"Very well ser, I will keep him in my household, he can pose as a squire. Tell Cortnay he owes me one. That makes it two. If he asks about the other one, remind him who brought the onions to Storm's End so he didn't end up eating his own boots."

Ser Corliss sailed the next day. After watching his battered ship depart, Davos sat in his solar in the Tower of the Hand with Ser Andrew Estermont and Edric Storm.

"Edric, this is Ser Andrew, the captain of my guard, such as it is. You will be his squire, and do exactly as he tells you, am I understood?"

"Yes my lord. Might I see my cousin Shireen please my lord? I only met her once, when Lord Stannis came to see Lord Renly at Storm's End. We were only little, I'm fourteen now, same as her."

"I'm sure it can be arranged, though we'll let you settle in first."

"Thank you my lord."

Suddenly they were interrupted by a row outside the door.

"I'm sorry ser, but I cannot allow you in. The Hand is not to be disturbed."

"You don't tell me anything you sack of shit. I am the rightful King's Hand, let me through!"

The door burst open, and Ser Axell Florent burst in with two of his Florent flunkies.

"Ser Axell, what is the meaning of this?"

"I know what you're doing Shorthand. I know who that boy is. You're going to sell us all out to Renly aren't you? That's what you're new ships are for, so you can load up your Narrow Sea cronies and sail away! I am ejecting yo from your office and holding you for questioning. Rafe, Ullen, take him."

The two Florent men moved forward, but Ser Andrew placed himself in front of Davos.

"You don't want to be doing that," he said, drawing his sword, "Even Florents bleed."

Davos saw his chance, "I am appointed Hand by King Stannis, and if you think you would be his next Hand after removing me, you are delusional. I expect Lord Celtigar would receive the honour, or Velaryon, or Estermont, probably your brother Lord Alester actually. But not you."

"I have been essential to his grace for over fifteen years."

Ser Andrew took over, "You were useful in peacetime ser. Where did his grace have you when war came? On Dragonstone, guarding some rocks. It's all you're good for. Now get out, or you'll lose a hand." The two thugs turned and ran.

"You haven't seen the last of this smuggler. I'll get you, and the bastard'll hang. He's Renly's boy, he'll betray us, like you." With that, he turned and left. He could be heard scalding his cronies as he went down the corridor.

Ser Andrew sheathed his blade. "I don't think it's safe for the boy here, my lord. Or for that one to be walking around free."

"I agree, you must go. Axell is a windbag, luckily no-one else thinks he's half as good as he thinks he is. I would arrest him, but I don't think his brother would take it too well. the Florents are the only Reach house supporting his grace, and the man is right, he did serve well for fifteen years, when serving was safe."

"_I _must go, my lord?"

"Yes, you'll take my old smuggling ship _Cobblecat_. When it's old captain died, I won it from the new in a game of dice. Best gamble of my life."

"My lord, my place is here, helping you. If you expect me to leave so that fat git can come back and -"

"You agreed to serve me yes?"

"Yes my lord."

"Then take the boy across the sea to Pentos. Take him to the manse of Magister Illyrio Mopatis and tell him I sent you. I used to do chartered smuggling for him in the old days and, between you and me, Dale and Allard are still on his payroll."

"What should I do then?"

"Keep the lad safe. There may come a day when it is safe for him to return, but until then, keep him away and safe."

He turned to Edric, who had remained silent all this time. "Go with Ser Andrew, he'll keep you safe."

The lad looked terrified, "Yes my lord, as you say my lord."

He sent them off at dawn. Ser Andrew commanding, with a skeleton crew. They had been offered a small group of guardsmen, or few knights, but Andrew had insisted on going alone so they would be harder to track. As he watched the small boat disappear over the horizon, Davos clasped his knucklebones in their purse around his neck. He wished them luck.


	36. Chapter 36: Jon III

_NOTE - Back to the Wall, and some deep talking. More action-packed chapters coming, I promise. Enjoy.  
_

_Jon_

The trip back to Castle Black had been difficult for Jon, not killing Theon had been a real challenge. In the end, Jon had just ignored him. Turncloak had tried to talk to him once or twice, but Jon had turned away, not trusting himself not to attack him. But they were back now, and with any luck as soon as he had done his basic training he would be sent to Eastwatch or the Shadow Tower.

Three days they had been back, and seen Theon do exactly what he had done when he arrived, flatten every other recruit with ease. He was watching him now from the Old Bear's balcony. Whatever else Theon was, he was good with a sword. Not as good as Jon was though, if only he could give him a good thrashing, he might feel so much better.

"You really want to kill him don't you Snow?" He hadn't heard Mormont come up behind him, and jerked his head round.

"Yes my lord. He betrayed my family and took their home."

"If Benjen were here he'd probably have killed the lad already. I can't have you killing your brothers, and we leave our allegiance behind when we join the Watch. Yet, the loyalty of men is not so easily cast aside. The number of times I've had to keep Ser Alliser and Donal Noye apart in the common hall."

"Why those two, my lord?"

"Noye was a Baratheon man in the Rebellion, while Alliser fought for the Mad King."

For some reason Jon was not surprised at that. "What about your loyalty my lord?"

"Is to the Watch. But I am a Mormont, I fought at the Trident with Ned Stark on one side and the Greatjon on the other, and because of that I will always have some loyalty to the Starks. Benjen was a great friend to me also. So, in view of old loyalties, I imagine you'd relish the chance to give Greyjoy a thrashing on the training yard?"

"I would indeed my lord."

The Old Bear took a deep breath in and bellowed at the man filling in as master-at-arms. "Huwin! This is hardly fair, Greyjoy had castle training. Put him against someone from a similar background, really test him!"

Huwin was a northerner himself, grasped the plan quickly enough, and grinned wickedly. "Lord Snow! Get your noble arse down here!"

As he hefted the practice blade, Jon examined Theon closely. He appeared to be favouring his left leg, possibly a wound from Winterfell. He lunged with a snarl.

"Jon, please." Theon begged as he parried desperately. He had the same training as Jon, but lacked the absolute fury. "I had to, my father, he -"

"Shut up! They raised you and you..turned..on..them." He punctuated each word with a shattering blow to Theon's shield.

By now he was on the floor, arms raised, "I yield. Yield!"

Jon turned away, "Get up! We'll go again."

"No. My crimes are forgotten when I join the Watch, you have no reason for this. I did what I was commanded by my father, would you have done differently?"

"Yes. I would not betray the ones who raised me, cared for me. My father raised you as his own."

"Did he? I was a hostage, taken when I was a boy, and when I went home, to my real home, my father turned me away and sent me to die on a stupid raiding mission. His own boy. His last son. You may be a bastard, but at least your father accepted you into his home and cared about you. Mine sold me to his enemies and then rejected me when I came home."

Jon felt a moment of pity for Theon, but it was gone as soon as he noticed it. "I have duties to attend, don't be too harsh on the others Turncloak."

He was summoned by Maester Aemon not two hours later.

"You wanted to see me maester?"

"Yes Jon. I understand what you're going through, I do. These things happen to test our vows. You are lucky, your test came when you were young."

"What do you know about it?"

"The Gods were cruel when they tested me. They waited until I was old and blind. But when they told me of the death of my brother's grandson, and his son, and even the little children, I wanted to go south, to bring fire and blood down on them who called themselves liberators. I bore witness to the downfall of my family, and could do nothing. I understand Jon Snow, better than you."

"Who are you?"

"My father was Maekar, my brothers were Brightflame and the Unlikely. I was offered the throne, but refused it, having already forged my chain. I came to the Wall so no-one could use me to plot against my little brother Egg."

"You're Aemon Targaryen?"

"Yes, Jon, that's who I was. I _am _Aemon, a maester of the Citadel, bound in service to Castle Black and the Night's Watch. I have been tempted Jon, but I kept my vows. Will you?"

Jon stood and left.

He was in the Lord Commander's solar when Jeor entered.

"Snow, good. Got news for you, from Winterfell."

"What news?"

"Ser Alliser that Roose Bolton has returned to the North, under the banner of King Joffrey. He marches on Winterfell. He has the backing of the Dustins, Ryswells, Hornwoods and now the Karstarks."

"Bastard. What will happen now? What about Bran?"

"Ser Rodrik and Mors Umber have pulled back to Winterfell to gather what men they can. They've sent south for Robb to return, but that will take too long. They're gathering what men they can to fight, but most are in the south with Robb. Bolton has thousands of battle-hardened men, they'll be hard pushed to stop him."

"What about Bran?"

"You're brother has been sent North to Last Hearth with a guard of loyal men. Alliser says that they wanted to send him here, but he refused."

"The prick! We must write to Last Hearth and offer Bran safety here."

"We must do nothing, we take no part."

"But my lord -"

"Enough Snow! We take no part. Yet I will write to Whoresbane Umber, offering the Wall to Bran should Last Hearth be attacked."

"Thank you my lord."

"I saw you destroy Greyjoy in the training yard. Go easy on him, you don't need another one round here with a vendetta against you. On the subject of vendettas, Janos Slynt is bound for Castle Black."

"Who?"

"Former commander of the Gold Cloaks of King's Landing, and a puffed up dogshit by all accounts. He betrayed your father to Cersei Lannister. You will do him no harm, not even the humiliation you gave Theon. Whatever else he is, the man is an experienced commander of men, if only we had some men for him to command."

"Have there been no replies?"

"Lord Stark said we could have any and all non-ransomable prisoners taken by his forces, but that won't be for a long time yet. Ser Alliser says he's bringing maybe another twenty from Torrhen's Square. But the rest..."

"My lord, have you considered recruiting from Mole's Town?"

"Might be worth a shot, they do live on Watch land. Good idea Snow. That reminds me, I have this for you." He held out a longsword, with a wolfs head pommel. "Had the pommel altered a bit, a wolf suits you a bit better than a bear I think."

"My lord, it's Valyrian steel." He gasped as he drew it, the blade shining.

"Longclaw, the ancestral blade of my House. I know Aemon spoke to you about being tested. He has been, your uncle was, I have been, we all will be."

"You were my lord?"

"I was. I judged my son ready to rule our home, so I took the black, as is our family tradition. Jorah was a good man, I was never more proud than when he was knighted after the Siege of Pyke. He told me later that the King went on so much about knights and killing that he must have been the only man who was knighted while needing a piss, but I was so proud of my boy. Then he married the Hightower slut, spent our family wealth, such as it was, on her southern fancies, and eventually sold poachers to slavers to pay his debts. When Ned Stark came for his head, he had just enough decency to leave the sword. So yes, my vows were tested too. I saw my people leaderless and bankrupt because of my son's stupid love for a southern slut, how could I not go home? But I didn't. Neither should you. Take the sword Snow, and promise me you won't do anything stupid."

"No my lord, thank you my lord. What happened to Jorah?"

"They say he joined a sellsword company, but couldn't pay his debts, so lost his wife. She's some Lyseni whore now, I've no idea where Jorah is though, or if he's even still alive."


	37. Chapter 37: Jorah

_NOTE - This is just a very short one, more of an update than a major chapter. Hopefully will be another tomorrow. Enjoy.  
_

_PS - I am thinking of starting another fic for those occasions when I get stuck on this one. I've thought about a Robert's Rebellion or Pre-Targaryen Conquest, or maybe Aegon's Conquest itself. Whatever it focuses on, there will be probably be heavy emphasis on lesser houses. Any preferences, requests or recommendations, PM me._

_Jorah  
_

He looked out over Slaver's Bay, he wondered. How long now before they went home? He longed for it, had done for many years, all through his exile. Not King's Landing or Dragonstone, he yearned for Bear Island. The home he had know, ruled, and failed. He had tried to blame Lynesse, but deep down he knew that it was his fault. He hadn't been able to face his father's shame and had left Longclaw behind. Would his aunt Maege have it? He had heard she ruled there now. Or did it make it's way to his father at the Wall? He didn't know if the Old Bear was even still alive. All he had wanted was to please his father. He had never been so happy as when he'd seen the proud look on his father's face after the Siege of Pyke as Jorah rose a knight. God he'd needed a piss so badly. But he failed his father, he failed his people, he had run. Never again. He would go home. They would all go home. How could they not? Astapor was freed from the masters, and they now marched west with the Unsullied at their back.

He turned to look at her, his silver queen. He knew he would follow her wherever she went. He knew what he longed for was impossible. He served her, nothing more, never would be. She was so beautiful. _Stupid, stubborn bear. Give up on women, you should have learnt by now. _

He had advised her to sail to Westeros long ago, in Qarth, after he had refused Varys' pay and turned his back on his pardon. Now he saw that the time to return was now, with an army, and a large portion of the gold of Astapor. He and Ser Barristan had been hard pressed to get her to agree to take it. She had wanted to leave it for the freed slaves who called her Mother, but they had persuaded her to take some. He and the old knight had had many late-night discussions on returning home, and had decided that despite the might of 8,000 Unsullied and two companies of her Freedmen, the Queen needed more men. The question was where to find them. The rumour that the Golden Company was once again unemployed had caught their attention. Selmy had been reluctant at first, as they were founded by Blackfyres not Targaryens, but had eventually come around. But the Golden Company never remained unemployed for long, and never broke a contract once made. They would have to act fast.

He still wasn't quite sure what to make of Ser Barristan Selmy. The man was undoubtedly a great knight, but had served on Robert's Small Council and in his Kingsguard. The two had met in private to discuss their flaws. Selmy knew about Jorah's work for Varys, and Jorah knew he knew. They had agreed never to mention it, and in exchange Selmy would be Lord Commander and Jorah would never mention his part in the Usurper's reign. So the uneasy stalemate between them had begun.

The only thing the two of them agreed on was that the sooner they returned to Westeros the better, but the Queen did not seem to have the drive. They marched slowly, and she planned on liberating Yunkai and Meereen also. They had advised her against it, but she had shown her teeth and dug in her heels. He glanced at Selmy, who nodded.

"My Queen."

"Ser Jorah, Ser Barristan."

"We wondered if you might consent to discuss an alternate plan?" Selmy was always so cautious and correct.

Her exasperation was clear. "Very well, but I warn you, my mind is not easily changed."

"Your Grace, you know you need more soldiers."

"Yes, Ser Barristan, and I shall find them in Yunkai and Meereen. I have two companies from Astapor alone, Yunkai and Meereen are larger cities, this will give me more men."

"Khaleesi, you need real soldiers. Your freedmen are loyal enough, but they have no training."

"So we must train them, Jorah." Gods she was stubborn.

"That will take too long. You need them now. The time is ripe, the Lannisters and Baratheons squabble over the realm like dogs with a bone. If you return now, people will look to you in the chaos, you will fight a realm divided. If you leave it too late, you will fight a realm united. You must go home."

Selmy joined in again, "Your Grace, you need more men. The Golden Company have just finished a contract, we must hire them before they are gone again."

"Hire sellswords? I would feel a lot safer if my half my army followed me for a reason other than gold."

"The Golden Company are different Khaleesi. They were founded by the Blackfyres and are mostly exile Westerosi. I served with them for a time, they will know me. They have never broken a contract so we must act fast."

"Let me think on it." That meant no.

He shared a look with Barristan. They both knew that she would need to leave Slaver's Bay, and soon, or it would be too late.


	38. Chapter 38: Kevan VI

_NOTE -__ You lucky devils you. Sorry - had to get my inner camp man out there. This is another one that's been waiting in the wings for a while, but I think it's appropriate now. I wrote this, along with the last Kevan chapter, just after I started this fic. This is where I orginally planned Kevan and Stannis to end up, where they go from here - well, I'm not telling yet. Enjoy.  
_

_Kevan  
_

So they had come to it. He never thought that he would be on the other side of a battlefield to his brother, but that was how their fates had unraveled. The King had called his commanders to his tent, with instructions to come prepared for battle. Kevan had strapped his armour on with a little help from one of his men, he could never reach those buckles at the back. He had had one of the camp smiths alter his armour to be more suited to his role, and so the lions on his pauldrons were now silver rather than gold, as was the lion on his helm.

When he entered Stannis' tent, he found he was the last to arrive.

"My apologies, your grace."

"Accepted my lord. Now, to business. The Freys have shown their true colours, and declared for Joffrey, turning their backs on me."

It was Lord Estermont who asked first, "My King, I did not believe Lord Stevron was capable of such a thing."

"He isn't. His son Ryman has declared himself Lord of the Twins and made this deal with Tywin Lannister. It seems some men just can't wait to play the game. To make it worse, Roose Bolton has declared himself Warden of the North, has recaptured Moat Cailin and marches on Winterfell."

"What do our Northerners say about this your grace?" Lord Florent looked anxious, and rightly so.

"Lords Stark and Tully are regrouping their forces at Riverrun before moving against the Freys. From there they shall push north and retake Winterfell, finishing the Boltons completely."

"What about the battle here? Lord Tywin's forces are deploying to the west."

"We will march against him and offer battle. We will be outnumbered, but we can win through. Lord Kevan tells us the courage of his men hangs by a thread and that he himself is severely ill. Isn't this so my lord?"

"It is your grace."

"I shall command the centre, Lord Florent the left and Lord Royce the right. Lord Lannister will command the rearguard. You will await my signal to attack. That is all, now go."

* * *

All credit to him, Tywin had chosen a very good place to make his stand. The rough terrain in front of his army would slow Stannis' troops down considerably, allowing the westerners to pepper them with arrows as they advanced. With rocky outcrops on both sides there was no chance of a flanking maneuvre either. Yet Stannis had been waiting long enough, and there was no way he would stop the attack now.

From his vantage point at the rear of the army, Kevan could see the front line of the Baratheon forces advancing, and hear the screams as the hail of arrows took it's toll. He had never watched a battle like this before, he had always been in the van, either commanding it for Tywin or just fighting. He understood how back-seat commanders could so easily forget the horror of the battlefield. He wondered if one of the bodies was Willem. He had tried to persuade the boy to stay behind, but he had had none of it.

At his side was Ser Artos Brax. He also looked on edge, as his father and eldest brother were both part of Tywin's host. Lord Andros and Ser Tytos served with the cavalry, as Braxes tended to do. It was said that they could ride before they could walk. Kevan briefly wondered where Artos lay in the line of succession for his father's seat. Of the four Brax sons, three were now in his service. Should neither Lord Brax or his heir Tytos survive the battle, which of the three would succeed? Not Flement, he knew that he was the youngest. He wasn't sure whether Artos or Robert was older.

His attention was pulled back to the battle by a huge roar. Tywin's cavalry had hit, and sure enough, at their head flew the purple unicorn of House Brax.

"I do feel rather guilty." Ser Artos whispered.

"Why?"

"I would prefer it if my father didn't die."

"You shouldn't feel guilty, I don't want Tywin to die."

"But he cast you out."

"Aye, but he's still my brother."

In silence, they turned back to watch the battle. It seemed like hours passed. Then, one particular cluster of troops drew Kevan's eye. On the left flank, the Florents were struggling to hold back a tide of men under the banner of House Lydden. Then, as he watched, their line broke. Lydden's men began to roll up Stannis' flank, before long, Stannis' own centre force was in danger of being cut off.

"What do we do, my lord?"

"What do you mean, what do we do? We attack."

He turned his horse to face his men, mostly Westerlanders, some his, some captives released in exchange for service, also those troops of the Narrow Sea lords who hadn't remained at the capital.

"Now then. Some of you don't know me, others only by reputation. It matters not. The point is that like me, you have a vested interest in Stannis winning this fight, and if he's going to do that, we'd better hurry up. You might be scared, you might pray, you might call for your mothers, a few of you might even shit yourselves. It matters not. What matters is that you get stuck in, and don't go down without taking a good few of them with you. Ser Artos, sound the advance."

The knight raised a horn to his lips and gave an almighty blast. As he rode at the head of his column, Kevan pulled on his helmet. _Here goes. I'm past the point of no return. I have been for a while. Now I'm about to completely turn on my family. Gods how did this happen? _He pushed aside his personal doubts, glanced back at the banner flying behind him. Two silver lions._ My twin boys, and one of them is in there._

As they neared the enemy lines, he drew his sword. _Hang on Willem, I'm on my way. _Ser Artos sounded the charge.

* * *

His mind turned back to the last battle he'd fought in which Westermen fought Westermen, another battle where he had commanded the reserve. It had been the final battle of the Reyne-Tarbeck Rebellion, the Tarbecks were destroyed and only the Reynes remained. Roger Reyne had committed his troops and they were threatening to break through. Tywin had the command that day, with his brothers as his lieutenants. Gerion had the left, Tygett the right and Tywin the centre. It was the only time Kevan had ever disobeyed Tywin's orders. "Hold here," he had said, "Do not move unless I give the signal."

Kevan had moved. He had seen the Red Lion of Castamere and his heavy horse attempting to break through. They had taken Gerion's men by surprise. The Lannisters were lacking in cavalry, they depended on House Brax for that, but of all their vassals, only Prester and Marbrand had raised their banners, and they were miles away. The only heavy horse they had were Kevan's one hundred knights, formed up as the tactical reserve. Lord Reyne had committed all two hundred of his horse to his final desperate charge, and it was paying off.

Kevan acted, he had had to. He led his men in on a reckless charge. The horses screamed as they collided, but he pushed on. Sword swinging, he clashed blades with a knight bearing the red lion on his shield and cut him down.

Tywin had summoned him afterwards.

"You did well Kevan, you disobeyed me, but you won the battle for us. I'm going to need you in the years to come, to restore our family name to the heights at which it once stood. Tygett and Gerion are capable, but they don't have what you have. I need you Kevan, are you with me?"

Tywin's words echoed around his head as his men smashed into the Lydden lines. _I need you Kevan, are you with me?_

* * *

He remembered nothing of the battle, only dismounting and running amongst the bodies where his brother's flanking maneuvre had caught Stannis' men. He found Willem kneeling over a body, the King looming behind him. Devan Seaworth. The poor lad had been the only one of Davos' sons on the battlefield. One of seven. His head lay at a horrifically awkward angle to the rest of his body. A broken neck. Kevan lifted his son up and guided him away.

"Father," he whispered, "There was a man with a halberd behind us, was going to take my head off. Devan pushed me out of the way."

"What happened next?

"He fell, and I stood over his body. They tried to kill me but I wasn't leaving him. They came at me but I killed them all. He was my friend, and they killed him."

"Who are 'they'?"

"The Lyddens, with their white badgers. I saw Lord Lewys from further off, but he got away, I wanted to kill him, but I couldn't leave Devan."

The lad was obviously exhausted, he could barely stand, and bleeding from a dozen cuts with a fresh purple bruise growing on his brow.

"Come on lad, let's get those cuts sorted."

As he led Willem over to his horse, intending to get him mounted up and back to the camp, they were approached by the King.

"Devan Seaworth was a good squire, and gave his life for your son's."

"Willem has just told me, your grace."

"Did he tell you everything? Did he tell you that he went on to defend Devan's body against all comers, despite some being nearly twice his size? Did he tell you that he killed Ser Lyn Lydden? Did he tell you that in doing so, he stopped said knight sticking a sword in my back?"

"No he didn't." He turned to his son.

"I didn't know, I never meant to..."

"Kneel, boy." The King's command was harsh. Kevan helped his son to the floor.

"By the power invested in me by the High Septon and by my own blood, I dub you.I charge you to defend the weak, uphold the law and do your duty. I could make you swear endless vows, but those are the only three things that matter. Rise, Ser Willem of House Lannister."

As he stood, Willem had tears in his eyes. Ever since the twins were little, when Martyn had proved to be the better sword, Willem had appeared to give up on winning renown in battle or a knighthood, preferring to focus elsewhere, but Kevan knew, had always known, that deep down he still wanted to be a knight.

As Willem rode back to the camp, Kevan and Stannis walked along the lines.

"What now your grace?"

"Tywin escaped us, but we have captured many lords. The tide has turned my lord. It is time we put you in your castle."

"But that would mean -"

"Yes Kevan, I'm going to take Casterly Rock."


	39. Chapter 39: Tyrion II

_NOTE - Errrrr. Not really got much to say for this one. Only that I wrote this binge-listening to the Rains of Castamere on repeat, thought it might help. Enjoy.  
_

_PS - Thanks to those who keep reviewing - much appreciated, all opinions welcome._

_Tyrion_

Gods, he fucking hated sailing. He had spent the voyage in a permanent drunken stupor. But now they were landing in Planky Town, just south of Sunspear, and there was politics to be dealt with, and that meant sobering up. He had to, he couldn't let Cersei and Joffrey do it, that was a recipe for disaster.

He waddled on deck and looked out over the rail. He could see the ramshackle slum which passed for Dorne's only real port town, nestled on the banks of the Greenblood. He strained his eyes, was that a group of soldiers on the dock? It didn't matter, they would be met by some member of Prince Doran's court. The Viper most likely, and if Tyrion wanted to deal with him, then he was going to need to recover, and fast. There was only one thing for it. He shoved his fingers down the back of his throat and vomited over the side.

"Good to see you enjoying the summer air uncle. It must be so much cleaner than the stuffy shit-stench in your cabin."

"And it is good to see you too dear nephew. I only wish I was in a better state to converse with you, your grace. However, as you can see, I am busy clearing my head."

Joffrey walked away, grumbling about how he could have him thrown overboard just like that, but Tyrion didn't listen. The little shit had been very effectively restrained, and thanks to the decency of Sers Steffon and Robert he had stopped abusing Sansa. With Cersei fuming that Tommen was refusing to even talk to her after she condemned Kevan and the Kingsguard firmly under Tyrion's control, she had also absolutely no power. She had seemed deflated, as if she had given up.

* * *

They docked and disembarked, to be greeted by, and he'd called it, the Red Viper of Dorne, Oberyn Martell.

"It is such an honour to receive your graces in Dorne," he purred, "We have waited along time for you."

Tyrion did not like the sound of that, "When might we be able to see Prince Doran?"

"You are in luck, my lord Imp, my Prince has just returned from the Water Gardens, Myrcella and Trystane came with him."

"Excellent. Will he receive us now, or later?"

"Now, before we eat. I will take you to him now." As he led the way, his guards fell in around the royal party.

They followed the Prince through the maze of the Shadow City. Tyrion had read about it once, how it had grown around Sunspear when Nymeria landed her ships, maybe, he couldn't remember. Soon, they had passed under the gates and into the Tower of the Sun. Oberyn turned to them then,

"Only the Imp goes up."

Joffrey began to protest, but Cersei placed a restraining hand on his shoulder, and Tyrion let out a sigh of relief. She had that much sense at least.

The Viper continued, "My Prince would like to speak to you all in turn. You will be next, my queen. Then your grace." He directed this last at Joffrey.

Tyrion had always hated stairs. They played havoc with his stunted legs. Eventually they made the summit, and Prince Doran's solar. A huge man with a six-foot axe blocked their path.

"It's alright Hotah, my brother is expecting us."

"He is not to be disturbed." The man's face barely moved.

"Let them in." The soft voice came from inside the chamber. Immediately the guard stepped aside, and opened the door.

Tyrion was struck by the powerful smell of lemons as he entered, then he saw why. Though Prince Doran had done a good job of covering his legs, one of his gout-ridden toes stuck out from beneath his blankets, the lemons must be to disguise the smell. He took the indicated seat opposite the Prince, while Oberyn stood at the window.

"So tell my, my lord of Lannister, why have you come to Dorne?"

"We have come to visit our allies and hope to only impose upon you for a few days before continuing to Casterly Rock."

"You are a good liar, Tyrion Lannister, but you forget, liars can be spotted. You have come here because you could not stay at Dragonstone. The island is too exposed. I do not deny that you are indeed headed for Casterly Rock, for where else would you go? Shall we agree not to lie to each other?"

"Very well. We are going to Casterly Rock because we could not remain on Dragonstone. Still, they will not catch us, we covered our backs."

"With Lancel Lannister? I must say my lord that your backs are very uncovered."

"How did you know that? What do you mean?"

"After rescuing him from Stark captivity, your father argued with his brother Ser Kevan and ejected him from your family. He and his children have been disinherited and cast out."

"What? Why?"

"I do not know why. What I do know is that Kevan has joined Stannis Baratheon, along with many of the knights in his service, and been given the titles Lord of Casterly Rock and Warden of the West. It may also interest you to know that in accordance with his father's change of allegiance, Lancel has yielded Dragonstone to Stannis' fleet."

"This is...interesting."

Oberyn laughed, "You mean disastrous, Imp. Your cause lies in tatters, you cannot trust even your own family. Your only allies are Boltons and Freys. Why should we risk the ire of Stannis Baratheon to save your hide?"

"Peace, Oberyn." Doran held up a hand, "They are guests, they shall not be harmed."

Tyrion grasped the meaning of this, "But you will not help us either." The alliance with Boltons and Frey was news to him though.

"Dorne is strong my lord, but not that strong. Gone are the days when we stood alone against the mighty armies of the Targaryens. I will not lead my people into a hopeless war. Oberyn and his daughters would have me string you up, in revenge for Elia. I will not do that. You are welcome to stay, until the week is out, but then you will leave. If you do not, I make no guarantees."

"You threaten us, Prince Doran?"

"No. I warn you. Your Game of Thrones would cost us dear, and it is a price I will not pay. You will take Myrcella with you when you leave."

"You would end your alliance with the King?"

"I would see you gone I can keep you safe here for that long only, out of respect for our alliance. My bannermen are not as reliable as I would wish, they think a chair-bound man is a weak one. Leave me."

Tyrion did not know how to respond. He suddenly found himself at the bottom of the tower, in front of the others.

"What happened?" Cersei demanded.

"He says we can stay for a week, no more. We take Myrcella with us when we leave."

"What about his army?"

"It will remain in Dorne. He will not help us."

"Really? We'll see about that." She stormed towards the stairs.

"Cersei no!" But she was gone.

* * *

That night he wrote to his father, telling him of Doran's betrayal. He had no idea whether the raven would even reach the mighty Tywin Lannister before they had to leave. Oberyn was right, it was collapsing around them. Everything their father had built. He poured more wine. Life was shit.

Bronn walked in without knocking, as usual. "Have you seen that prick of a Kingsguard anywhere?"

"Which one?"

"The one who actually serves the King."

"Ser Mandon? No. Why?"

"Your bitching sister wants him."

"Fuck my bitching sister."

"Gladly."

"Now now Bronn. Come get drunk with me."

"I don't think I will."

"Why not?"

"I have a meeting with a rather lovely young lady who I met in the Shadow City."

"Then I wish you well. Give her one from me." As an afterthought, he shouted after Bronn's retreating figure, "And fuck her bitching sister!"

* * *

He summoned to Prince Doran again that night. The Prince looked very tired, and sighed as Tyrion entered.

"I do apologise for our previous meeting, my lord."

This knocked Tyrion flat, "What?"

"I apologise for what was said at our last meeting. There are times when I must comply with the wishes of my family. That little performance was put on for the benefit of those who would have me kill you."

"Such as Prince Oberyn?"

"Primarily his daughters, the Sand Snakes. Not Oberyn himself though, I have managed to persuade him to see how detrimental to our cause that would be."

"_Our _cause?"

"We are still allies, are we not?"

"But you said ..."

"A sham, my lord. A mummer's farce. Word of it will go out soon, Oberyn will make sure of that. No-one will speak of this meeting."

"So you will help us?"

"I am willing to help _you_ and not in the way you expect. We agreed not to lie to each other my friend, so I did not lie. Joffrey's claim is in tatters, you're father is being pushed back by Stannis."

"So what do you suggest?"

"For nearly twenty years the people of Dorne have called for revenge, for Elia and her children. They accused me of doing nothing, said I was weak. But I have worked tirelessly for all that time. I will see the downfall of Tywin Lannister, and all the other traitors. Ned Stark is dead, Robert is dead, Jon Arryn and Hoster Tully are dead. That leaves only three."

"My father, my brother and - who else?"

"Stannis Baratheon. The man who stormed Dragonstone and forced the last Targaryen's into flight."

"Prince Doran, I wonder why you are telling me this."

"Oberyn and his daughters want every Lannister dead. I do not. Your father, brother and sister, yes. Your sister's children, no. They had no part in that treason. I was prepared to remove them if required, but now it is not, so they will not be harmed. Neither will you, as long as you co-operate."

"Why not me?"

"You have been cursed all your life by your family, why do you support them so? We offer you a chance my lord Tyrion, join us or die."

"Die?"

"I cannot have you telling of what has occurred in this room. You will join us, and leave tonight, or you will die." He beckoned to the huge Norvoshi, "Areo will see to it himself. You side with us, and you will be Lord of Casterly Rock by the end, under a new King."

"It doesn't sound as if I have much choice. But you said _we _and _us_."

"I did. I believe you two know each other." From behind the arch of the balcony stepped a short, slender man with black hair stranded with grey, and a thin pointed beard.

"It is my pleasure to see you again, Imp." Petyr Baelish smiled.


	40. Chapter 40: Margaery IV

_NOTE - Given some peoples speculation that Tywin isn't done yet, I respond he most definitely is - or isn't, though he does APPEAR to be finished, and that's the important thing at the moment. Here's the next one, and we finally meet the Queen of Thorns herself.  
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_PS - Hope you all enjoyed the first episode on Sunday! *cough* first four episodes have been leaked *cough*_

_Margaery_

She woke up in the arms of her raven-knight. She was a little surprised, he rarely stayed the whole night, and rightly so. They couldn't afford to be caught. It would undermine everything. She would be disgraced, any child she bore for several years could be accused of bastardy, and most importantly, Guyard would be killed. She wouldn't let that happen. She woke him with a shake.

As she watched him dress, she thought. Her grandmother would be furious, but she didn't need to know either. Only she knew, and her raven knight. Over the time they had had together, she knew she had fallen for him. Gods this would make it ten times more difficult when Renly was King. However, that was looking less and less likely. Willas had returned only yesterday, with news of his seizure of Crakehall, and Garlan had taken Brightwater Keep from Ser Colin Florent, who had died rather than surrender.

Today, her grandmother had called them all together, because in her words, "This mess needs sorting out, by someone with sense." By which he meant herself, obviously. Margaery had sighed at this, it meant hours with Garth the Gross. She had managed to persuade them to let Ser Guyard to attend as Renly's representative, but she still didn't relish the prospect.

She thought it rather presumptive of her grandmother to hold this meeting in her lord father's solar, but then Lady Olenna was nothing if not presumptive. Sh was amazed however, to find not only Garth, Olenna, Garlan and Willas waiting for her there. Two more men were present, one tall and lean, the other shorter and fat, her brother Loras and her father.

"Father! When did you arrive home?"

"Just before dawn, I've ridden all night." She doubted that somehow.

"What's happened?"

"The King is dead, my dear."

"How?"

It was Loras who told her, "We met three days ago to discuss the war effort, told him of Willas and Garlan's victories. He'd been so sad, we hoped it would improve matters, get him going again. But he didn't say anything. Just looked at the map and said 'Stannis has the North, the Riverlands, the Vale, the Crownlands and now my Stormlords and some from the Reach are abandoning me. Tywin Lannister is withdrawing and Dorne will not rise for a Baratheon.'"

Lord Mace took over the tale, "He told us all to go home, said 'Go back to your lands and bend the knee my lords. As I should have done, now leave me.' So we left."

Loras finished, "I stood outside his door that night." Garlan tittered. Loras didn't take it well, "Oh fuck off would you? I was _outside_ his door for the sake of the Seven."

Olenna scalded Garlan, "Shut up boy, unless you've got some good to say. Go on Loras."

"I heard a grunt from inside the room, a gasp and a cry of pain. I burst in, sword-drawn, and saw him pull the knife out of his chest. He said to me 'Go Loras, save yourself, obey. I had to, I should have been his most loyal man, but I turned on him.' I stayed with him until more men arrived. His last words were 'Forgive me Stannis'."

It was the Queen of Thorns who broke the silence, "Well, that's that then. The question is, what now?"

"We must bow to Stannis," Garth rasped, "Or he'll tear us apart."

"We have no other option," Mace agreed. He turned to her raven knight, "What will House Morrigen do?"

"My father will bend the knee. The Swanns have taken our home."

"And you?"

"Renly had me swear to protect Queen - Lady Margaery. Even if he were to die. My brother can have Crow's Nest, I'm staying here."

"A noble sentiment ser."

Loras spoke next, "I won't bow to Stannis."

"We have no other choice brother," Garlan assured him.

"Do we not?" Willas was smiling, the same smile that Olenna wore when she knew something nobody else did. Margaery looked at her grandmother, and noticed her smiling too.

"What's your idea, Willas?"

"Not my idea, per say, but an egg that grandmother and I have been incubating for a while, and is ready to hatch."

All attention was on him now. "Tell them boy, go on."

At his grandmother's urging, Willas began. "We supported the Targaryens in Robert's Rebellion. We must do so again. Over the Narrow Sea, Daenerys Targaryen had gathered an army. She is marching them here."

"You are mad." Garth snorted in disgust.

"No he isn't." Olenna asserted, "I have been in correspondence with Prince Doran Martell and the Spider for seventeen years. Dorne will rise for the Targaryens, the Reach must do the same."

Hang on a minute, did she mishear that? "You both speak of Targaryens, as in more than one. We know of Daenerys, but who else?"

"Smart girl. The other would be Aegon, the Sixth of His Name, son of Prince Rhaegar and Elia of Dorne."

"Impossible," Lord Mace managed to wheeze.

"No father, he is alive, and he is coming home. The Golden Company are behind him, as is Dorne."

The Fat Flower leaned forward eagerly, "Then what should we do?"

"We must prepare our forces, the time is nearly here. When he lands, we raise our banners, and seal the allegiance with marriage." Olenna looked pointedly at Margaery.

"No. I'm not doing it again. You know how Aerys treated his wife. I won't do it."

"You will if you're told to girl," Garth's contribution to these discussions always seemed to be either an insult or an admonition.

"We do not refer to you, dear. This is already planned. Prince Doran's daughter Arianne will wed Aegon."

"Then the marriage is for whom?"

The Queen of Thorns smiled, "Loras will take a ship to Slaver's Bay, where he will wed Daenerys Targaryen and bring her home."

It was Loras' turn to refuse, "No I won't. I can't, you know I can't."

"You can and you will."

"Grandmother, you know what I am."

"Yes, a sword-swallower through and through. But you will marry her, and consummate it, and get her with a Tyrell child."

"Why not Willas? He is the heir to Highgarden, I'm just a knight."

"Because Daenerys is young. Willas would offer her a castle to manage and to have children in and a crippled husband. Not very exciting. You however, are handsome, the most desirable bachelor in the Seven Kingdoms, and can offer her everything Willas would."

Loras appealed to his father, "Father, will you allow this?"

"Oh yes. It sounds a fabulous idea to me. My son, husband of the Dragon Queen. Go lad, go!"

She decided to rescue her brother, "What of Willas then? He is the heir to Highgarden, he must marry eventually."

Her grandmother smiled again, "He will be securing the North. Sansa Stark is in Dorne, don't ask me how she got there, but Prince Doran assures me she is. He has promised to keep her safe until Willas comes to claim her."

"What? Thank you for sharing _that _choice piece of information!"

"Oh shut up Willas, you're a smart boy, you know it makes sense."

"Yes, but ... fine."

"I'm glad you agree, because you're leaving tomorrow."

Margaery laughed out loud at Willas' discomfort until Lady Olenna turned to her, "I don't know why you're laughing dear. You're going with him."

She felt her face fall, "Why?"

"Two reasons, you will befriend Lady Sansa, the Gods know she needs a friend. Secondly, to meet your betrothed."

"My betrothed?"

"You didn't think Prince Doran would do all this without wanting something else did you? You will marry his eldest son Quentyn, who, once Arianne marries Aegon and becomes Queen, will be the heir to Sunspear."

She flushed as all three of her brothers roared with laughter.

* * *

When the others had left, she followed Willas. She knew he exchanged letters frequently with Prince Oberyn, Quentyn's uncle.

"What is he like, Willas? Has Oberyn ever mentioned him?"

"Once or twice. He's in the service of Lord Anders Yronwood, has been since he was eight. He was knighted last year I think, or the year before. By all accounts a decent lad, sensible and dutiful. Not going to set the world on fire with his looks though."

"Is he ugly?"

"No, just not handsome. I'm sure he'll do right by you." With that he hobbled off.

She wandered alone through the gardens for a while, contemplating this. She'd only been a widow an hour, and she was already betrothed. In fact, she must have been betrothed almost as soon as she was born, she was seventeen and that's how long they'd been planning this. Had her grandmother's plans accounted for her father siding with Renly? She doubted it somehow. Her train of thought was interrupted by a cough.

Ser Guyard Morrigen came around the corner. "My Lady. I wondered if I might have a word?"

"Of course ser." She took him by the arm and led him down the path, "What about?"

"About us, and your betrothed. I should like to remain in your service, if you'll have me."

"Of course, what else would you do?"

"But I do not think it wise for us to continue like this, not now you are promised."

"Guyard, don't be so ridiculous," she lowered her voice, "We took each other as lovers while I was married, never mind promised."

"But, Prince Quentyn, I shouldn't wish to cause offence or upset."

"Ser. You are from the Stormlands, the most militant and strict place in Westeros, except Tywin Lannister's privy. I am from the Reach, where we are much more free to express such things. Quentyn is Dornish. Do you know what that means?"

"He's a suspicious prick?"

"Now now, that's my betrothed you're talking about," she teased him, "I meant, do you know the Dornish rules on expression of love?"

"No my lady."

"Well, it is said that Lord Qorgyle keeps three mistresses, all of whom his wife knows about and loves too. Lady Ladybright, while her husband was alive, often loved him and one of her knights, at the same time. We will cause no stir in Dorne, as long as I introduce you as my paramour to Quentyn." She hoped that would be enough. If Quentyn was any more strict on these matters than she had guessed, then there could be trouble. She loved Guyard, she was sure she did, and wanted to keep him. She hugged him to her and he relaxed.

In fact, she defied the Dornish to try and take him off her.


	41. Chapter 41: Arya III

_NOTE - To those who want me to leave it alone and let Stannis just be King, without having to deal with constant plots and further challenges, I say that it's part of the plan, and don't worry, he's far from finished. Anyway, to the Riverlands. Enjoy.  
_

_Arya_

The remnants of the Brotherhood agreed to take them to Riverrun. They brought the Mountain's body and the barely breathing frame of the Hound. She and her mother rode at the front with the warband's new leader, the red priest Thoros of Myr. He told of how they had been charged by her father with killing Ser Gregor, so they had harassed him and his men throughout the Riverlands, picking up recruits wherever people joined them. Their losses had been heavy, but the Lightning Lord had been their strength and kept them going.

"I never truly believed before my lady. I said the words and lit the fires, but I didn't truly believe. But when the Mountain drove his lance through Beric's chest, I said the words, he knew I didn't believe them, but I said them, they were the only ones I knew. For the first time in my life, the Lord of Light answered, and Beric woke."

"You returned him from death?"

"Seven times my lady."

"Gods."

"God, my lady. There is only one, and all men must serve him."

Lady Stark pursed her lips, but let it slide. "Do you think your men would join the war?"

"Not likely my lady, they'd probably rather go home. I wouldn't presume to command them, you'd have to ask them to choose themselves."

"Surely they follow whoever they are sworn to?"

"We were Robert's men, but Robert's dead. Then we were Beric's, but Beric is dead."

Arya interrupted, "Could you not bring him back again?"

"Even the Lord of Light struggled the last time, he knew he was on his last chance. Each time he came back he was a little...less. He knew he had no more chances. Besides, a crushed skull is a little more difficult than a broken neck or pierced heart."

She opened her mouth to reply, but a look from her mother made her think better of it. She turned in her saddle to look at the remainder of the Brotherhood. One man walking behind her had the Blackfish slung across his horse, he wore a helm which covered his whole head, but he looked familiar. She thought nothing of it, she'd probably just seen him in the fighting or... then she realised.

"Gendry!" She wheeled her horse and rode back to him, "Why didn't you tell me it was you?"

The man removed his helm, and sure enough, it was Gendry. He looked her straight in the eyes and asked, "Arry? I didn't recognise you with long hair and a dress! What happened to you? You went away when we were in Harrenhal and never came back! We thought you were dead!" He reached up and hugged her.

"What are you doing with my daughter?" Lady Catelyn had turned her horse around too, and the entire company was still.

Arya leapt to his defence, "This is Gendry, who I told you about, mother. He didn't know I was a Stark, I was just his friend."

Gendry promptly went to one knee, "Lady Stark. My name is Ser Gendry, of the Hollow Hill."

"_Ser_ Gendry?"

"Aye right enough," Harwin chipped in, "Lord Beric knighted all of us before the final attack on the Mountain when we met you, except us Northerners what are left, we were offered, but we decided not. We have our own gods you see. 'Twas done at the Hollow Hill ten miles back. So they call themselves the Knights of the Hollow Hill."

"Ser Gendry, do you know who that is on your horse?"

"A knight of House Tully, my lady."

"That is Ser Brynden Tully, my uncle, and Arya's great uncle. Take good care of him ser."

"I will my lady."

* * *

They spent another few days on the road before they reached Riverrun. Once there, the Hound and her great-uncle were rushed off to the maester, while Arya and her mother were taken to Lord Edmure. He was her uncle, she knew, but had never met him.

The Lord had the auburn hair and piercing blue eyes of the Tullys, and as he rose to embrace his sister, she noticed that he was shorter than she had expected, shorter than her father.

"Sit Cat, eat. You too Arya. You are most welcome. So you survived the Lannister treachery? And bring the Mountain's body to us. How did you manage it?"

Arya sat in silence as her mother told him, but she felt something she had not felt in a long time, something that reminded her of Winterfell, she was restless. She couldn't sit still, and eventually, her mother turned and admonished her.

"Well that is a good tale," Lord Tully said, "Maester Vyman is tending to our uncle, I told him not to bother with the Hound, but after that I shall instruct him to see to him too."

This was boring. She got up and walked out. She heard Lord Edmure call after her, and then her mother overruling him. She ran down the steps to see if she could find Gendry, instead she bumped into a rather portly knight.

"My apologies, my lord."

"Not at all," he replied, "Ser Wendel Manderly, at your service Lady Stark."

"Do you know where the Brotherhood is? I need to find them."

"This way my lady Arya." The fat knight led her out into the courtyard, and under a network of arches to another, smaller, courtyard. "Here you are."

"Thank you ser." She ran off to find Gendry, leaving Ser Wendel looking very bemused.

* * *

"Gendry!" She ran up to him and hit him, "I thought you were dead too."

He looked up from his sword and said, "You know that doesn't hurt, don't you?"

"It hurt me, stupid." She grumbled.

"Why are you here Arya?"

"Well, you obviously don't want me here so it doesn't matter." She turned to leave.

"No Arya! Stay, please."

"That's better. I wanted to ask you if you wanted to come with us, with mother and me, when we leave."

"You're leaving?"

"Probably. At some point."

"What would I do if I came with you? Why would you want a hedge knight?"

"Because you're my friend! Father said that Lords and Ladies have knights in their households, you could come with us, and I'll make sure you get some proper armour, and training and.."

"Arya, I belong with my brothers."

"But, you're my friend. Stupid." She hit him again.

"If you want me to, I'll think about it, but you need your mother to agree, she might not like me tagging along."

"Thank you!" She hugged him and, almost as an afterthought, kissed his cheek. Realising what she'd done, she flushed and ran off before he could say anything.

* * *

Her uncle Blackfish seemed to be recovering, he was still bed-bound, but well enough to croak at anyone who passed his chamber to empty his pisspot or bring food. It was in his chamber that she, her mother, Lord Tully and some knights had gathered.

"The Frey army is marching this way. They'll take it for their own if we surrender, so we must hold. We are going to be beseiged, but they will attack. They'll have to, our forces are returning from Stannis' main force to deal with these traitors, Bolton and Frey alike, they'd have to take the castle quickly, or pull back to the Twins. Robb has also informed Lord Stevron that his betrothal to Lady Roslin in at an end."

"Never mind the sodding wedding. Who's leading them?"

"Aenys, Rhaegar and Black Walder."

"Where's Hosteen in this? He's their best fighter." The Blackfish rasped from his bed. He was sitting up, just, but his face was still a pallid hue, a stark contrast with the mass of dark grey hair visible on his chest.

"He was with Lord Stark's forces, but my nephew tells us that all Freys except Lord Stevron and young Olyvar left them some time ago."

"Hosteen will be leading them here."

"I thought as much. I've ordered to prepare for a siege. No idle hands, sers. Dismissed." As the knights left, Lord Edmure turned to follow, but her mother stopped him, "Edmure, stay please."

"As you wish."

Her mother turned to Ser Brynden, "Uncle, after your fight with the Mountain, you called out three names while you were unconscious."

"Oh aye? And what names were these?"

"You called for your brother, Hoster."

"No surprises there."

"Also for Bethany and Tansy."

The old knight stiffened, "Leave now. All three of you."

Arya rose to leave, as did Lord Edmure, but Catelyn Stark remained seated, "We wont. This has gone on long enough, uncle. They said that my lord father called out for Tansy as well. Who is she?"

He sighed, and seemed to suddenly look a good ten years older. "Very well, but it's not a story you'll like. Bethany is, was, Bethany Redwyne, to whom I was betrothed. I loved her, I truly did, and I was going to marry her. Until it went a little overboard."

"In what way?"

"Her uncle died, and her cousin Paxter became Lord of the Arbor at the age of twelve. They wanted her to go home and help him rule, she was his only living blood relative at the time, except Lady Olenna, but she was Lady of Highgarden back then, so she couldn't go. They called Bethany home. I offered to go with her, I wanted to go, but Hoster, the awkward git, said no, said I was to stay here, that I had no business at the bloody Arbor. In short, we fought, badly, and I left with Beth the next day."

"I thought you argued because you wouldn't marry her?" Lord Edmure looked very confused.

"That was later boy, shut up and let me tell the story."

"Very well. What happened next?"

"Shut up and you might find out," the old man barked, his breath was coming slowly now, in ragged wheezes, "We slept together that night, in the tent. I deflowered her. I'd never been with a woman before, all the other knights had whores in the war, but I didn't. Could never face up to it. Next day, Hoster sent bloody Desmond Grell and Robin Ryger and a party of knights to bring me back. I fought, but one against six was never going to be good odds. They brought me back here, and I didn't leave this room for a month. Bethany wrote to me saying she was pregnant, and I was overjoyed. I spoke to Hoster, got his agreement to go down there and marry her before the baby came. I was all set to leave when the next raven came. They'd been ambushed on the road by bandits only three miles from Oldtown. One of them had cut the babe out of her and she died of blood loss. They fought them off, but by then it was too late, she was dead."

"Gods." Catelyn had gone a deathly shade of white, while Edmure was pacing the room frantically. Arya sat on the ledge by the window, not trusting herself to speak, but then something occurred to her,

"Who was Tansy?"

The old knight turned his head to her and rasped, "The man who wrote to tell me of her death was one of her guard. He told me that on the road to Oldtown she had named the baby Tansy, she knew it was a girl. That's why I never married. I couldn't bear the thought of it again. Hoster asked me to forgive him, but I couldn't. I raged at him for an hour. Told him I could have saved her, told myself I could have saved her. Eventually he stopped trying to earn my forgiveness. Started trying to get me to marry again. I turned them all down. Then I left, soon as I got the chance, and went to the Vale with Lysa."

Brynden Tully closed his eyes, and said, "Leave me, I need to sleep."

Arya was last one out. Before she closed the door she turned back to her great-uncle, and saw the tear roll down his cheek.


	42. Chapter 42: Victarion III

_NOTE - Back to the Ironborn now, and time for some good old-fashioned pillaging. Enjoy.  
_

_Victarion_

Damn that had been a good fight. His reminiscences of the first time he had attacked Lannisport, back during Balon's Rebellion, were usually bitter. He had done all the fighting, and who had Balon thanked? Euron, just because it was his idea. He hadn't even done any fighting. Now though, as he sailed into the mouth of the harbour, he could almost smell Tywin's burning fleet again.

He turned to Wulf One-Ear, "Begin."

At his man's gesture, the drums began. Huge things they were, and they echoed back over the silent port. It was the dead of night, and he had ordered his ships not to show any lights. But now, the lamps flared and the Iron Fleet revealed itself. Soon the bells of the Sept began to ring. _Ring your bells all you like. They cannot save you. Nothing can save you now. I am the kraken._

As they had so many years ago, the Ironborn swept into Lannisport. As he had then, he flung the first torch onto Tywin's flagship. Within minutes the Lannister fleet was ablaze. He could almost hear Tywin Lannister's roar of anger. As the _Iron Victory_ moved to dock, he readied his axe. _Euron never thought of this, this bit was mine._

Victarion threw himself over the side and began to run into the city. He could hear his crew behind him. A man with a Lannister lion on his breast threw an axe at him. He caught it and threw it back. It took the man in the neck. He didn't even break stride as he cut down two more. _I am the King, and none can withstand me._

The screams of the smallfolk were like music in his ears. Many bastards would be fathered that night, he knew. His men had specific orders. "Raze the town, rape and pillage as you will, but when the horns sound, return to the ships. Anyone not on board fast enough is left behind." And he meant it. Lord Tywin had been defeated by Stannis, and now both of them were making for Casterly Rock. Victarion would not risk his men in a land battle, so if either army showed, he would withdraw. _We follow the Old Way. We are the Ironborn._

He had carved his way up to the South Gate of the city. He turned to his men, prepared with buckets of pitch and torches. "Burn it." He would leave them totally defenceless, so they would learn. _None can withstand us._

As the gate went up in flames, he moved on, killing as he went. A soldier, a woman, another soldier, a boy with a smith's hammer. All fell before him. The bells of the Sept were still ringing. He called to one of his men,

"Barber!"

"Yes, my king!"

"Get as many men as you can and follow me, let's silence those blasted bells."

When he arrived at the Sept, he had gathered a few reavers to him, and briefly assessing the situation, plunged in. A group of soldiers had managed to form up on the steps, but no shieldwall could stop him. He put all his weight behind his shield and rammed into them. His size and the sheer momentum of his full plate smashed two of them to floor. He pushed on, leaving his men to deal with them. Left, right, left, his swings were becoming more regular, this was just so easy, he was becoming lazy. He spiced things up by axing the next fool in the bollocks. He howled, until the axe took him in the temple on the return swing.

The door to the Sept had been barred, no matter, it would burn. He took the torch from another of his men and held it to the door.

"Come out false priests. Open the door and we'll only take you. We'll leave your gods alone."

A peephole opened, "Truly?" The lad who spoke was young, obviously too young to remember Victarion's first attack.

"Aye, by all the Seven."

The heavy oak door began to open inwards. That was all he needed. Slamming all his weight into it, he barged into the sept. The man who had opened the door came forward, hands held out in surrender. He cut those hands off, and as the man screamed, he moved on the statue of the Father. Holding his torch under the wooden carving, he smiled as the false god went up in flames.

"No! You swore you wouldn't! You swore by the gods!"

He advanced on the septon, "They aren't my gods." His axe came down. The stench of piss cut through the smoke. _Disgusting. No true man pisses himself at the prospect of death._

Then came the horns. The Iron Fleet was calling them back. He ran with the others, until he cut down a knight. The warrior was old, and posed him no true threat, but he had a nice sword. Victarion picked it up with his spare hand as the old knight bled out. _I paid the Iron Price._

He was the last man on board the _Iron Victory _and immediately gave the order to cast off. He looked back and what he saw was beautiful. A city in flames, the screams and the sound of collapsing buildings echoed across the water. He made his way into his cabin and instructed the dusky woman to take off his blood-stained armour. He took her then, twice. The sellswords were right, there was nothing like a woman after a fight._  
_

* * *

Victarion Greyjoy stood at the prow of his ship as they moved into Lordsport. He was King, and none could stand before him. They had left Lannisport in flames, and Fair Isle was now held by his warriors. He had sent Asha back to the North, with orders to take Bear Island. While she might be stupid enough to think she could be a ruler, he could not deny that she was quite good at killing and conquering. Plus, it secured his position with her out of the way, though he'd have to marry her off soon. He had briefly thought of marrying himself, but dismissed the notion, knowing that he should marry and Goodbrother or a Saltcliffe.

In the solar which had once been his brother's, he pored over a map of the western coast. Where to strike next? The Westerlands were out, too many large armies wandering around. Somewhere in relative disarray. The only way he could press his advantage was to take advantage of the chaos which was engulfing Westeros. He had sent Gerold Goodbrother to retake Moat Cailin from the Boltons, and Baelor Blacktyde to claim Flint's Finger. Soon his rule would hold sway where ever men could hear the sea, as in the Old Days. _Balon would be proud. He wanted to make our people great again. Do you see, brother? Do you see what I have done?_

Then he spotted it. Seagard. The seat of House Mallister, a mighty keep and harbour. Balon had not attacked it upon claiming his throne, he had not dared. Jason Mallister had cut down his eldest son Rodrik on those walls. Victarion had been fond of Rodrik, the lad had been a true Ironborn. He would take his fleet to Seagard and avenge him. Not to mention cause havoc in the Riverlands. With the Freys turning on the Tullys, bandits and warbands running riot, and pockets of Lannister men still holding out, the moment was ripe. Seagard it would be.


	43. Chapter 43: Sansa II

_NOTE - I don't know how I'm managing to write so much these last few days, probably doesn't bode so well for my exams. Still, here's another one, with so much plotting I so confused I had to re-read it twice and make changes. Enjoy.  
_

_Sansa_

In so short a time, she was surprised she had come to love Dorne so much. Not so much the heat, but the openness and the food. She loved lemons, and they were not as few as they were in the North. In fact, it seemed that everything had either lemons or spices in it.

She had been marvelously hosted by the Princesses, both Dornish and not. The two could not be more different. Where Myrcella was quiet and shy, Arianne was confident and exuded raw sexuality. Sansa was amazed she was not yet married, and had been shocked when Arianne told her that she was not a maiden.

"But you're not wed."

"Oh my dear Sansa. You are so innocent. No I am not married, but that is no barrier." She surreptitiously glanced at Ser Arys Oakheart."I had my first man when I was younger than you. I was fourteen when Daemon Sand had me, he was quick but no less fun for that."

Sansa had left Arianne's presence reeling. The Dornish outlook on life was so different to that of the North. Another reason she was glad of Myrcella's company, she was much less extreme. It was also a gift, as when she was with Myrcella, Cersei would not be quite so horrible to her.

Cersei had gone very quiet lately, rarely leaving her rooms. Joffrey was the same. Tyrion however, seemed to be exulting in having someone new to talk to. She had seen him talking with Prince Oberyn a few times, sometimes they had another man with them, with greying black hair. She had no idea who he was, but he didn't look Dornish, probably an ambassador from over the Narrow Sea, though she was sure she'd seen him before. Tyrion also spent vast lengths of time in Prince Doran's solar. Sansa wondered if he was concocting more of his schemes. He had told her that they only had a week's sanctuary, and now, with only three days to go, she hoped he had a plan.

* * *

She wandered along the garden terraces, blissfully happy, when she bumped into someone.

Curtseying, she stammered, "My apologies my lord. I wasn't looking where I was going and..."

"Not at all, Lady Stark." She recognised that voice. She looked up and knew why she felt she had known the mysterious black-haired man. Littlefinger smiled at her.

"My lord Baelish."

"Come now, Sansa, no need for that. I was just walking, would you like to join me?"

"I don't feel I can intrude my lord."

"You wouldn't be." he replied, in a tone that brooked no argument. Reluctantly, she took his proffered arm and walked at his side.

"How are you enjoying Sunspear, my lady?" He was smiling, but it did not reach his eyes.

"Very much my lord, though it is a little warm for my tastes." _A lady's armour is courtesy._

"I was saddened to learn of your impending departure. Do you want to go?"

"I want to be with my beloved-"

He stopped and turned to face her, his hands on her arms, "Sansa my dear. I told you this in King's Landing did I not? We're all liars, and every single one better than you. You have not improved my dear. Now answer me truthfully, do you want to stay when Joffrey goes?"

"Yes."

"It can be arranged."

"How?"

"Prince Doran and I have been working for many years with certain friends of ours to bring about a certain plan. You would be an important piece in that plan, should you stay."

"What do you mean?"

"Should you remain, you would be required to wed the eldest son of a great lord. Do you think you could manage that, for me?"

She didn't like the way he said that, but tried not to show it. She was still wary though. "Who would I be marrying?"

"Does it matter? Suffice to say, it will not be Joffrey."

"But you served Joffrey? You changed sides?"

"No I didn't, sweet Sansa. I have always been on the same side. _My _side. I am about to give you some advice, no-one is ever on any side but their own, excepting honourable fools like your father. Will you do it? If we free you from Joffrey?"

Steeling her nerves, she nodded.

* * *

They found Bronn the next day, in the chambers of one of the Sand Snakes. Nymeria Sand had screamed loud enough to wake the whole castle, yet when the guards arrived, the man was dead, one of Lady Nym's knives in his throat, with her claiming the sellsword had forced himself on her. Sansa thought how horrific it must have been for her, but neither Tyrion or Cersei seemed to believe the story. Both Princes Doran and Oberyn had been furious. The Red Viper's other daughters in particular, had been particularly vehement in their outrage.

Obara Sand had challenged Ser Mandon Moore to single combat, Tyene had openly cursed Tyrion and Cersei at dinner, and Prince Oberyn had made them both leave, before adding his own threat. He had great love for his daughters, and if another Lannister, man or woman, went near them, he would cut their throats.

Doran had expressed his anger in a more subtle manner. He had first apologised for his family's behaviour, before requesting a private word with Tyrion and, surprisingly, Sansa. He had a guard push his wheeled chair into a small room off the main banquet hall.

"Lord Tyrion. This cannot go unanswered."

"The man is dead, my Prince, let it go."

"I cannot. My flesh and blood was attacked by a man in your employ. If they are not safe in my own home, you must understand how that makes me look."

"What do you want?"

"Her." The crippled Prince gestured to Sansa.

"My lord? Why me?"

"Littlefinger said he had secured your willingness to remain, did he lie to me?"

"No my lord. I just didn't expect it to be as a hostage."

"Not a hostage, a guest, until he arrives."

Tyrion looked totally lost. "Littlefinger spoke to her? She's staying? Until who arrives? I agreed to go along with your schemes Doran, am I to understand that you still haven't told me everything?"

"No I haven't told you everything and believe me, you are safer not knowing what you don't know by now, my friend. We need Sansa to give us a claim to the North. Robb Stark may not survive the war, Rickon is betrothed to Stannis' daughter, Arya is lost and Brandon was at Winterfell when the Greyjoys took it. She could well be the key to securing our King's acceptance by the Northerners. I believe that answers your first two questions. As to who, you need not know."

The Imp was gobsmacked. "So you've roped me into going across the Narrow Sea, alone, while she stays here and I've only your promise that she will be safe? I am her legal guardian."

"Lord Baelish has offered to act as her guardian once you and your companion have left."

"Of course he has."

"Relax my lord, I know what the man is and I know what he wants. I will keep her safe."

"Fine. Who is this companion you speak of?"

"A man who is going to Slaver's Bay just as you are. Loras Tyrell."

"Oh. So I'm going to Slaver's Bay to meet a Queen who may well roast me alive for my father's crimes, and to make it that much better, the only familiar face will be the only man who managed to stab Renly Baratheon over a hundred times and not kill him. Thank you so fucking much."

The Prince winced at the profanity and turned to Sansa. "Will you be happy here my lady?"

"I think so. Is Myrcella staying?"

"Sadly not. Cersei insisted on taking her home, our alliance is at an end." She would have believed that, if the Imp hadn't rolled his eyes. She decided not to say anything and let him think she believed him.

"That is a shame my lord, I will miss her so. At least Princess Arianne will still be here."

"My daughter would be happy to host you, Lady Sansa. Now, we must return to the feast, or they will think we have killed each other."

Tyrion coughed, "Prince Doran. What about my man your brother's daughter seduced and killed."

"Necessary, I'm afraid my lord. I had a restless people, who wanted Lannister blood. Your man's body will be shown to the people tomorrow. Let it go, my lord, they wanted it to be your head."

She saw Tyrion gulp as he reached for more wine.

Sansa realised now that she was in the middle of a huge plot, involving the Martells, Littlefinger, and now herself and Tyrion. Who was this King they spoke of? Despite her anxiety at what the future would bring, she was glad. She would be free of Joffrey in less than three days, and that was worth the price.


	44. Chapter 44: Bran III

_NOTE - More in the North this time, a nice break from all the Dornish scheming. Enjoy.  
_

_Bran  
_

Hother Umber was, if possible, even more trunculent than his brother Mors.

"How many times, little lord? We have no more men to send. This castle is on a skeleton garrison as it is. We can barely call fifty men to us now, including the one's who were in your escort, what with most down south with the Greatjon and the rest at Winterfell with Mors."

"Surely there must be something you can do."

"I promised to keep you safe boy, but that doesn't mean I have to put up with this. We have no men to send. Enough." The Umber rose to his full height and asked, "Is that perfectly clear?" He was a big man, like the others, but thinner than Mors, with a long grey beard that grew down to his stomach. He had a dangerous gleam in his eyes.

"Yes, my lord Umber."

"Good. Ben!" At this summons a boy about Bran's age, but taller, ran up to them from the gathering of folk in the Great Hall. "My lord Brandon, this is the Greatjon's third son Benjen, named for your uncle. He'll show you around and keep you company while you're here."

"This way please, Lord Stark."

As Benjen Umber led them out of the Hall and into the courtyard beyond, he turned to Bran and said, "Call me Ben, all the others do."

"Call me Bran, my brother Robb is Lord Stark."

"Yes my lo-, Bran." He smiled. "Wanna see something really cool?" His eyes shone with mischief.

"What?"

"Come with me." He dashed off and Bran quickly directed Hodor after him. They ran through the stables, up onto the wall and to the top of the highest of Last Hearth's wooden towers. Then Bran saw it, over Hodor's shoulder, a thin white line on the horizon, just below the setting sun.

"Is that? Is that the Wall?"

"Yes, but watch."

As they watched, the sun passed behind the Wall, and the light shot along the length of the horizon, forming a glowing line as far as Bran could see.

"How?"

"The ice reflects the sunlight, both out to the world and back in on itself. Somehow, the entire Wall lights up. You can only see it from here though, go any closer and the angle isn't right."

* * *

He tired of his stay at Last Hearth rather quicker than he had imagined. Ser Harrion had taken his task from Ser Rodrik to heart, and refused to leave his side during the day, and stationed two guards on his door at night. Ben, however, was a more welcome presence. He had also become almost attached to Bran, but he didn't mind that at all. Bran was glad to have a friend in this. Jojen was his friend, and so was Meera, but they didn't really understand him, but Ben did. They hunted and hawked and rode. Bran had never had a true friend his own age before. There were occasions when he wished he had his legs back, but mostly he was sad because he knew he would have to leave. Jojen kept reminding him, but he could not bring himself to do it.

Hother Umber had called everyone into the Last Hearth''s Great Hall. The guard captains, the steward, the kennel master, everyone.

"Quiet!" He roared. One thing that Bran had learnt during his stay was that Hother was not a patient man. "Shut it will you? Thank you. Now as you all know by now, Roose Bolton has stabbed the Starks in the back and marches on Winterfell. Well, we've had a raven from Mors today. Winterfell is under siege." Hee waved away questions. "Worse. Arnolf Karstark has joined him, and marches here with six hundred men. He'll be here in three days."

This announcement was met by uproar. A lady at the back screamed. The noise made a baby start to cry. Ben's elder brother Harmond stood forward and drew his sword, shouting oaths about traitors and their privy parts, while Hother roared and slammed a chain down on the table. Bran had no idea where the chain had come from, but Hother looked as if his family sigil had come to life. Then, Jojen whispered in his ear.

"Bran, we have to go." He knew he was right.

"I know, but how?"

"I don't know either."

Whoresbane finally restored order. "I have a plan. I will take all our remaining warriors out into the forest and wait in hiding. Lyarra here," he indicated the eldest of the Greatjon's daughters, "will surrender to Karstark immediately, and tell him that I have led everyone south to Winterfell. He will march down the Kingsroad to link up with Bolton, and we will harass him every step of the way."

Harmond stepped forward. "I will go into the village and gather every man and strong lad left, as well as horses and supplies."

Ben followed him. "What about me uncle?"

Hother turned to him. "You will accompany Lord Stark to the Wall."

"But uncle, I want to fight."

"You are the Greatjon's youngest son, I will not risk his line for this war. You are too young, you will go to the Wall with Lord Stark and his companions." He turned to Ser Harrion. "Will I have your swords ser?"

The knight replied, "My men are at your command, they hated leaving Winterfell, they'll be glad to go back. But I must remain with Bran, I am his sworn sword."

"Very well, though I wish it were otherwise. Lord Brandon, you must leave tomorrow, at dawn. You need to get as much distance between you and these traitors as possible."

"Why are we going to the Wall?"

"Your uncle served there for many years, the men will help his kin. Plus your bastard brother is there, and Lord Commander Mormont may claim he has no allegiance but the Watch, but he fought with your father at the Trident, you'll be safe there."

* * *

They left before dawn the next day, a small party of seven humans, seven horses and a direwolf. Ser Harrion and Osha would serve as their defenders, but Hother Umber had given Hodor a huge two-handed sword and Ben had a blade he had stolen from the armoury. Add to this Meera's spear and net, and Summer, they were adequately defended. He hadn't told Harrion what he planned yet, but he and Jojen had ironed out all the details last night. They would turn away from the Kingsroad, and head for the Nightfort. He opened his mouth to tell the knight, but decided better of it. It could wait until tonight, he thought.

"Ben?"

"Yes Bran?"

"Why do they call your uncle Whoresbane?"

"Why do you think?"

"He killed a whore?"

"Yes, in Oldtown. The whore was trying to steal his silver, so he cut their guts out and draped them over the window ledge. But he don't talk about it."

"Why not?"

"No-one knows for sure, but Harmond told me it's because the whore was a man."

"That's ridiculous."

"Is it? Uncle Hother has never married, he has no children. Old Lord Hoarfrost sent him to be a maester in Oldtown, but he came back after the incident."

"Wow. Did his father not make him marry?"

"He tried, but Hother's a stubborn so-and-so, you saw that for yourself."

Jojen caught his eye and pulled a face that said 'stop putting it off', before urging his horse forwards. Bran steeled himself, and went for it.

"Ser Harrion?"

"Yes my lord?

"I have decided that we should make for the Nightfort."

The tall knight raised a hand, stopping the party, and wheeled his horse. "You want to what?"

"Make for the Nightfort."

"Why on earth? It's a ruin."

"Exactly, there may be a way through there."

"A way through where? You don't mean you want to cross the Wall?"

"Yes."

"Why? No, it doesn't matter why, the answer is no."

"It wasn't a question."

He laughed. "You've got guts kid, but it's not happening. My orders are to take you to Castle Black."

"Whose orders?"

"Both Ser Rodrik Cassel and Hother Whoresbane."

"Are either of them Lord Stark?"

"No."

"You are a member of which house ser?"

"Stout." He was beginning to go red.

"And House Stout is sworn to which house?"

"House Dustin, my lord." He now looked well and truly defeated.

"And to whom are the Dustins traditionally sworn?"

"House Stark."

"And who, in Lord Robb's absence, is the senior Stark in the North?"

"You are, my lord."

"So we are going to the Nightfort."

The knight sighed and nodded, "As you say my lord, though I want my objections noted. Why beyond the Wall anyway?"

"My dreams tell me Bran must go to the three-eyed raven," said Jojen.

"Mine too." Bran added.

"Great," Ser Harrion grumbled as he turned his horse back down the road, "I'm going beyond the sodding Wall because some little kids had a dream about fucking birds."

* * *

Ser Harrion continued to grumble until they stopped for the night, when he sat down and asked Bran outright,

"What do you hope to achieve?"

"I don't know."

"All I know is that I have to go."

"Why?"

"To find the three-eyed raven."

"For what purpose?"

"I don't know, but I have to go." Bran raised his voice to ask them all, "Will you all come with me? I won't force you."

Jojen spoke first, "This is why Meera and I came to you. We're with you."

"Me too." Ben Umber sat up and grinned.

"Hodor." Bran assumed that was a yes.

"Ser? Osha?"

"Why should I cross the Wall? I risked my life getting on this side. I don't want to go back."

"We need you Osha, you're the only one who's been north of the Wall."

"I'm not going."

Ser Harrion spoke up, "I swore to protect you my lord. I don't like it, but I'll come."

This clearly shocked Osha, who looked at the knight with an emotion that Bran didn't recognise, before sighing, "Fine, I'll go, the Others take you."

Harrion lept on her reluctance, "Is our big brave wild woman afraid of looking scared?"

She slapped him, but not hard. "We should all be scared. There was a reason we come south. There's a reason Mance's bringing the Free Folk. The wights are on the move, and where they go, worse follows."

Bran's dreams that night were of Winterfell in flames, then darkness, and in the darkness, two ice-blue eyes.


	45. Chapter 45: Andrew

_NOTE - One thing I noticed in GRRM's work is that Edric Storm appears to have just disappeared. So here's what happened to him once he left Westeros in this story.  
_

_Andrew_

Pentos. He'd never been here before, and so far he wasn't impressed. Full of bloody merchants who'd sell you their dead mother's jewels for another box of spices to flog in Asshai or Qarth or somewhere equally far-flung. At least Lord Seaworth's friend had taken them in without question. The magister had been surprisingly generous, suspiciously so. Andrew was not by nature a suspicious man, but he could smell a rat if there was one to be smelt, and this Pentoshi cheese-monger absolutely stunk.

The worst thing was, he had no idea what to do now. He had got Edric out of Westeros, but he didn't want to stay with Mopatis a minute longer than necessary. He had become fond of the lad on the voyage over, and didn't want to see him hurt. He had sworn to protect him after all. He had had several ideas, each more crazy than the last. There was the sellsword plan, where he took Edric with him and joined the Golden Company, it was full of Westerosi, and they wouldn't bat an eyelid at another knight and his squire. Then he had thought of going to Estermont and hiding the boy, but that was out of the question, just a stupid hope. He could go to Volantis and try for a bodyguard job, but where would that leave Edric? Then there was the craziest idea of all, asking Illyrio for a loan and setting up a trade business, not here in Pentos, or Braavos, probably one of the smaller cities, Tolos maybe. He was pondering their options when he was interrupted.

"Ser Andrew?" Their immensely fat host was waddling over to him. He waited until the man had squeezed himself into a chair before replying.

"Magister, you have been too kind to us."

"Not planning on leaving so soon, are you? I had just become used to your company at meals."

"I have to keep the boy safe, I can't say why but I do."

"I know why. You don't think that I wouldn't recognise Robert Baratheon's seed? I was at his court once, when he was trying to raise funds for some stupid war in the Disputed Lands. It never got off the ground anyway, not a stable investment."

"You knew who he was and didn't say anything?"

"I didn't trust you. House Estermont serves Stannis, I didn't know if you knew who he was. I didn't know how you would react, I don't want bloodshed in my manse. But you were talking about keeping him safe."

"Yes. I have decided to take him with me and join the Golden Company. They're mostly from Westeros, so they won't shake their heads at another exiled knight and his squire."

"Not a bad plan, but I can tell you that the Golden Company have just taken employment and are camped outside Volantis."

"Employment with whom?"

"The Targaryens."

Andrew roared with laughter, "You've been smoking your own spices too much. The Targaryens are gone."

"Are they? Then how do you answer the rumours of a Targaryen queen with three dragons in Slaver's Bay?"

"Just that. Rumours."

"They are not ser. I can tell you that myself. I want you to go to her and tell her that her nephew is ready, and so are the Golden Company."

"You are insane. You want me, a knight sworn to Stannis Baratheon, to go to Daenerys Targaryen, with Robert Baratheon's bastard son, and carry a message from some cheese merchant?"

"Yes. Exactly."

"Why should I do this?"

"Do you want to go home, Ser Andrew, ever? It will never be safe for Edric Storm under the Baratheons, and his looks are distinctive. He's all Robert, apart from the Florent ears. This is your only chance to go home. Also, when the Targaryen's return to power, a member of House Estermont in her service may well save your family from their wrath. Need I go on?"

"Please do."

"You are a man of action ser, that much is obvious. Are you going to waste your life fighting as some minor knight in a sellsword company, or be one of the primary leaders of the Targaryen Reconquest? Surely you should run the idea past your ward? He may have something to say on the matter of his future." The fat man pulled himself to his feet with some difficulty and said, "You want to play a part in saving Westeros from itself? You will ride to Daenerys."

Andrew jumped up, "What do you mean, save it?

"The Baratheons have brought nothing but blood and death to the Seven Kingdoms. Their own wars are now tearing the realm apart. Joffrey, Stannis and Renly, three vultures picking over the corpse of Westeros, not forgetting the chaos in the North and Riverlands. Rebel lords and bandits run riot, while the Ironborn hover at the edges, seizing any undefended spot they find. Rape, murder and petty brutality ravage the whole continent. The realm needs leaders who are not eternally indebted to others, as Robert was to Tywin Lannister. Leaders who have proved their strength. Leaders who have a name which signifies two hundred years of stability and prosperity, granted there were hiccups, but overall stability. And do not forget, Daenerys has the one thing no-one else does. Dragons. I'll let you think about that ser." The mound of pallid flesh that was Illyrio Mopatis jerked itself into motion and walked away.

* * *

That night, Andrew arrived in Illyrio's banquet hall having made his decision.

"Alright spice-merchant, I'll go, but I want answers, true answers."

"Ask away my friend."

"What do you want with Edric?"

"He will be going with you. By the time the Targaryens rule, he may be the only Baratheon left. He is a bastard now, but a King can legitimise. He may be essential to securing the Stormlands."

"I won't make him go if he doesn't want, in which case, I won't be going either. I won't leave him."

"A noble sentiment. Your other questions?"

"Who is the nephew you mentioned?"

"Aegon, son of Rhaegar and Elia. Rescued from King's Landing before the sack by my colleague. He has been raised in exile, and is ready to be the best King we could make him."

"And, finally, who is this we? You must have friends in Westeros for this to have any chance of working."

"My colleague, whom I mentioned, is Lord Varys, erstwhile Master of Whisperers in King's Landing."

"The Spider? How?"

"Does it matter? As soon as Aegon and Daenerys land in Westeros, the Reach and Dorne will rise for them. Prince Doran and the Queen of Thorns assure me of this, and our friend Lord Baelish has promised his assistance. In addition to the Golden Company, Daenerys' Unsullied and the dragons, this will be enough."

"Fine. I'll go. If, and only if, Edric wants to come too."

* * *

He went to Edric's room immediately following his dinner, wanting to resolve this issue as soon as possible. He entered and saw the lad looking out over the darkened city.

"How long are we going to stay here ser?"

"That's exactly why I'm here lad." He told him everything that Mopatis had told him.

"But my father, he said all the Targaryens were mad."

"He was wrong son. I am assured these ones are not."

"How do you know?"

"I don't. Truthfully, I don't know what we'd be riding into, but I'm of a mind to go."

"Why?"

"I can't just sit here comfortably in Pentos. I need a purpose, and this is my chance to do something worthwhile, truly worthwhile."

"Will we see the dragons?"

"If we get there, I don't see why we wouldn't."

"Then it's an adventure, and I want to come." The lad's eyes shone at the prospect of dragons.

"It will be adventure at that. But it will be hard going. You and I will train with the sword every night, and I expect you to put your best into it. The Dragon Queen isn't like to want someone who has nothing to offer her, and all we have is our swords."

"Great! Ser Cortnay used to train with me every day, but it's been a while."

"We'll see if Illyrio has some kit for you. He seems to have everything else, why shouldn't he have some mail and a sword?"

* * *

As it turned out, the cheese-monger had been anticipating their acceptance since they had arrived, something which galled Andrew slightly, but he ignored it. The fat man had taken the time of their stay to have some good travelling clothes and kit made, as well as to find two excellent horses and high quality armour. Andrew had his own, but Edric didn't. Illyrio had also provided them with a pair of surcoats, one with an Estermont turtle, the other smaller, bearing a golden stag on black. Baratheon, with the colours reversed as was tradition for bastards, Edric's own sigil. The boy was delighted, and all kitted up, he looked a proper knight, never mind a squire.

They set off the next morning, laden with supplies and gold. The supplies so they could avoid getting stuck in market towns to buy supplies, and the gold for a ship for passage to Slaver's Bay. The fat man waved them off from the porch of his manse. They headed out of the city and down the road to Volantis, their cloaks covering the armour underneath. Edric had objected at first, until it was explained to him that a man and boy in full mail and bearing swords was sure to attract far too much attention.

He really hoped that Daenerys would accept their service, otherwise it was the Golden Company. After Illyrio's speech, he was quite looking forward to going home, but most of all he wanted what Edric wanted. To see dragons. He wanted an adventure.


	46. Chapter 46: Kevan VII

_NOTE - Oops. Forgot to put a note one the previous one, so might as well put this up too, seeing as its finished. That's one way of putting up two at once. Enjoy.  
_

_Kevan  
_

They found Lannisport in ashes. One of the great cities of the Seven Kingdoms, totally destroyed. Kevan had led the troops in himself, and what he had found had horrified him. Bodies everywhere, old men, women and children. The survivors huddled together in the few buildings still standing, mostly those built of stone rather than wood. As such, the sept was crammed full of the homeless, as were buildings such as the Bank of Lannisport and the Lion's Lair. The Lion's Lair was the residence of House Lannister of Lannisport. Kevan had only been inside once, during the Reyne-Tarbeck Rebellion. Then it had been a nest of seething politicking. As the House had no lord and clear ruler, and was more a collection of families than one single family, the Lion's Lair had become the site of petty struggles of each family for precedence over the others. The first Greyjoy rebellion had cost the Lannisport Lannisters dearly, and now it appeared that the Ironborn had finished the job.

As with the sept, the castle had been totally gutted by flame. All the walls were stained black and their hangings and tapestries burnt to a crisp. Kevan was met by Ser Tybolt Lannister, a middle aged knight with the family golden hair and beard.

"Ser Kevan, thank you for coming. We have great need of your assistance."

"Who rules here now?"

"There's only a few of us left now, Sers Loren, Lyman and myself. The people turned to me."

"Gods." There had been over thirty knights in the House before, all jockeying for position. Now it seemed there were only three left.

"Do you bring supplies ser?"

"You can have what my men bring with them. But you will address me as Lord."

"I'm sorry ser?"

"Lord Tywin has been attainted by the King and declared a traitor to the realm."

"But, he's Joffrey's grandfather. Why would the King attaint his own grandsire?"

"Not Joffrey. The true King. Stannis Baratheon."

"You're not telling me that you betrayed your family and switched to Stannis?"

"No. I'm telling you that for telling my brother the honest truth, me and mine were attainted and disinherited. We had no choice but to turn to Stannis. He has made me Lord of Casterly Rock and Warden of the West."

"I'm sorry Ser Kevan, but you cannot stay here. We do not recognise the authority of Stannis Baratheon here. Joffrey is our King."

"You need supplies don't you Ser?

"Yes, but -"

"Where is Lord Tywin now? He's up in Casterly Rock. He didn't give you any help did he? He marched right past. I am here now, offering you what food I have. King Stannis sent me ahead to relieve the city. Are you going to turn this help away?"

"But Stannis is not the King."

"He is. Joffrey is done. Decide Tybolt. Do you want my aid or not?"

After a long pause, the knight sighed, "Yes, my lord."

"Much better. I'll have the food distributed in the square outside the sept."

Kevan turned and walked out to his men. The Lannisters of Lannisport were shattered, but would be rebuilt. He briefly considered the future. They could not be allowed to become what they had been. They needed a clear leader, or they descend into chaos again, and Kevan would not allow that.

"My lord!" a man bearing his twin silver lions ran up to him. "The King is outside the gates, he has sent for you."

* * *

Kevan rode up to the King, and inclined his head. "Your Grace."

"What happened here?"

"The Ironborn. Victarion Greyjoy, calling himself King, led in his ships as he did when Balon rebelled the first time. Only this time he landed his men too. The city is in ruins, maybe two thousand people left, probably less. Only the stone buildings survived, and they've been completely gutted. The sept is totally ruined and the Lion's Lair is little better."

"Who rules?"

"Ser Tybolt Lannister of Lannisport for now, but the others will look to replace him before long, unless it is made clear the crown supports him."

"It will be done. Who does Ser Tybolt name King?"

"You, your grace. It took some convincing on my part, but he needed our supplies, so he bent the knee in the end."

"Did he recieve no help from Tywin?"

"None. My brother marched his army past without a second glance."

"Have your men fall in my lord. We march on the Rock."

* * *

They made the Rock by noon, and sure enough, Lord Tywin's banners flew defiantly from the towers. They estimated maybe four thousand loyal soldiers in the fortress, with many more pulling back to their own holdfasts. It seemed that the other Westerlandes had either realised that Joffrey's cause was done, or they had been ordered home.

Stannis had around thirty thousand men below the Rock, but they were an increasingly patchwork force. The bulk were Valesmen, under Bronze Yohn, maybe fifteen thousand. The second largest group were Kevan's Westermen. Six thousand from various sources, his own men, those of captured lords or those who'd bent the knee and the remainder of the Lannisport City Watch. Then there were the Crownlanders, who had bent the knee after King's Landing fell, maybe four thousand of them. The Estermont and Florent troops were the next largest group, around two thousand, but they had taken heavy casualties in the battle against Tywin's forces. Finally there were Stannis' stalwarts from the Narrow Sea, those who had been with him from the beginning. Most of them had remained at King's Landing, but some two thousand had marched with their King under Ser Artigan Celtigar. Now there were barely a thousand remaining, and they fought as a single column of men sworn to Celtigar, Velaryon, Bar Emmon or Sunglass.

They assembled below the Rock as Stannis rode forth to the Lion's Mouth to parley. Kevan had offered the chance to remain behind, but had turned it down. _I will face my actions. _So they rode up the causeway. King Stannis, Lord Royce, Kevan and Lord Estermont. Lord Florent would have been the fifth, but he had just that morning died of the wounds recieved when his men broke. Alester had tried to rally them and been cut down by the flank attack. With the four of Stannis' Kingsguard with the army behind them, they waited for Tywin.

Kevan looked out over the army below. Stannis had ordered them drawn up in ranks, to show his strength. Kevan doubted it would intimidate Tywin, who frequently used such tactics himself. Even from here, he could pick out banners. The turtle of Estermont, the stag of Baratheon, the ravens of Corbray, the wheel of Waynwood, the crabs of Celtigar and the silver lions of his family.

The portcullis of the Lion's Mouth rose, and a party of horsemen rode out. Five of them. As they drew closer, Kevan recognised them, Lord Tywin in the centre, his castellan Ser Damion, his cousin Ser Daven and two more who Kevan recognised as Ser Luceon and Ser Damon. Lesser Lannisters all. Not to belittle their abilities, but he noted that Tywin had none of the leading Lannisters with him any more. The family he valued so much were gone, either fled in fear for their lives to Dorne, or driven out and now arrayed against him.

Tywin though, wore the expression of a victor, not a man cooped up in his castle with an enemy on his doorstep. But that aside, he looked bloody awful. Pale and drawn, he seemed to have aged another ten years since he had dismissed Kevan. He was thin, his cheekbones visible, even through his overgrown and unruly whiskers. His eyes had become sunken, and he had obviously not shaved for weeks. Kevan was shocked. He remembered Tywin as he was, the broad-shouldered, straight-backed man who crushed rebels and traitors alike. The ruined man before them hardly looked capable of crushing an ant. The mighty Tywin Lannister, who ruled the Kingdoms for twenty years, who inspired 'The Rains of Castamere', who cowed rebellious thought with a glance, who sacked the greatest city in Westeros, who brought his family from their lowest point to the highest they had ever been. His family. Whatever else Tywin was, he was Kevan's brother, and he loved Tywin. Now it appeared that the cycle was complete, and House Lannister, his great legacy, was defeated, divided and squabbling over what was left of his life's work. _I am no better than the rest. I could have gone over the Narrow Sea, but I turned on him._

"Lord Tywin Lannister," Stannis began to speak, "You have fought against your rightful King, placed an incest-born bastard of your own blood on the Throne. You are charged with treason, among other such crimes. Will you surrender?"

"Why would I want to do that?" His voice was weak, barely a whisper. "The Rock has never been taken, nor do you have the time to besiege it."

"You cannot hold against us, my lord. You are finished. Your bannermen have abandoned you. Bend the knee, my lord."

"What will happen if I do?"

"You shall be tried for your crimes, and if found guilty, executed. Your brother Lord Kevan will rule the Westerlands."

"What about my son?"

"Jaime will be tried as you will. The same for Cersei, Joffrey and the Imp."

"I see no reason to submit." He broke out into a fit of coughing, and raised a kerchief to his mouth. Kevan saw blood on the cloth when he lowered it.

"Then you have chosen to bring death on your people. Lord Tywin Lannister, you are attainted and I declare your life forfeit. Trials will be held for those of your kin whom I mentioned, but you will be executed without trial."

Then Tywin laughed. It was a horrible, broken sound, more like cracking glass than anything else. Tywin Lannister never laughed, not since men had laughed at his father, had laughed at his family. "We shall see Stannis, we shall see." Leaning heavily on Ser Damion, he turned his horse and headed back up to his castle.

* * *

Back at their camp, the King held counsel.

"Lord Royce, you shall lead the assault, you will move your men up to the- what do you want?" He directed this question to a messenger who had burst into the tent.

"Your Grace. News...from the capital." The lad had obviously run over, as he was still catching his breath. He held out a scroll bearing the Hand's seal.

"It's from Lord Seaworth." Stannis opened it and read it. His face was unreadable. Then he spoke, "My lords, I must return to King's Landing. Lord Royce, read it out loud."

The big man took the scroll and read.

_Your Grace, your brother Renly is dead. They say he killed himself. The Tyrells have moved back to Highgarden, but the Stormlords are marching on the capital. I sent riders, but they have not declared their intentions. I cannot hold the city against them, I do not have the men. I beg you to return with whatever soldiers you can spare. I have ships ready to take Shireen to safety, along with as many others as possible. We cannot hold them for long, your grace. Please come._

"Your grace," Eldon Estermont spoke first, "What if they are not going to attack? What if they are going to pledge themselves to you?"

"I can't take that chance. My heir is in that city, my Hand and my fleet. Losing the capital would be a devastating blow. I must return."

"But the siege..."

"Will remain. Prepare the Valesmen and Narrow Sea troops to move out, we march tomorrow. Lord Lannister, you will command the troops that remain. You may attack at your discretion. I know they are your family up there, but they are traitors. Do not kill them, keep them for trial. I promised that. Except Tywin, he will not be trialed."

"Your grace, I cannot attack.."

"You will do as commanded, my lord. Lord Estermont, you are second here. Gentlemen, to your duties."

As Kevan left, he pondered. He had been ordered to attack his family, his home, his brother. Could he do it? _I must. For my boys, Lancel, Willem and Martyn. For my wife and daughter. I must._

He did not sleep that night, the same words repeating over and over in his mind. _I need you Kevan, are you with me?_


	47. Chapter 47: Addam

_NOTE - Back to Dorne again, sorry for those who hate the Dornish, but this one's important. Enjoy  
_

_Addam_

They had delivered Martyn easily enough. The lad had sparred with all three of them, and surprised them all. He reminded Addam so much of Jaime. He and Jaime had been fast friends when he was a page at Casterly Rock. Martyn was fast, and stronger than he looked. He couldn't beat any of his protectors yet, but he had given it a damn good shot.

They had found Lord Swann's host outside Storm's End. The castle flew Renly Baratheon's flag proudly, but below it, Lord Gulian's host enclosed all land approaches. They had ridden up to the command tent, escorted by a party of knights, all bearing their lord's sigil. In the camp he saw the owl of Mertyns and the crow of Morrigen in addition to the sea of swans, and laughed when Ser Lyle called it the Army of the Aviary.

Lord Gulian received them suspiciously, though Addam didn't blame him. Until not very long ago, they had been in Joffrey's service, and they had brought a Lannister into his camp. Their stay was brief. Lord Swann had his son Donnel take Martyn away to his tent, and that was the last they saw of their charge. After a brief discussion of the progress of the war, Swann bade them leave his camp, so as to not cause upset amongst his troops. Not wanting any conflict, they had mounted up and left.

* * *

Now, they were approaching Sunspear. In contrast to the ride to Storm's End, the ride through Dorne had been hellish. Far too hot, and not enough water, despite the cloths Lord Yronwood had given them to cover their armour and stop them being cooked alive. The Strongboar had the hardest trip, as his armour was partial plate, unlike Addam and Flement's, which was mail. The big man consumed about their water all by himself, and promptly poured it all out again as he sweated in his oven of steel.

Addam had no idea what was waiting for them at Sunspear. Their mission was to 'recover', by which Lord Kevan meant kidnap, Cersei, Joffrey, Myrcella, Tommen, Tyrion and Sansa Stark and take them to a ship waiting off the Broken Arm. How three knights were meant to achieve this was beyond his best guess. True, Kevan had assured them that Flement's brother Ser Robert and Ser Steffon Stackspear, both of Joffrey's Kingsguard, would assist them, that was something Addam did not want to count on if he could help. The other complication to the plan was the Dornish. How would they take the arrival of three Lannister knights, and then the attempt to steal the girl betrothed to their Prince's daughter? He just didn't know, and that worried him.

* * *

To say their reception was frosty was an understatement. They were met outside the castle gates by Prince Oberyn and a phalanx of mounted spearmen.

"Prince Oberyn, we are sent here to guard the King, by Lord Tywin Lannister."

"The King has guards."

"And we are here to help them."

"The King needs no more guards. He is leaving tomorrow. By order of Prince Doran."

"Then we shall go with him."

"You will go now." The Prince turned and rode back into the castle, the gates closing behind the last of his guards.

The three knights spent the next hour finding a shaded spot behind a rocky outcrop to come up with a plan.

"What now then?" Flement, while a good fighter, had little imagination.

"We're gonna sneak in, obviously." Ser Lyle was a man of action, and his bull-in-a-china-shop approach may well get them killed. This needed thought, and that was why Addam was in command.

"No. They arrived here by ship. If they're leaving soon, their ship must still be around. Flement, you will ride to the Planky Town and find their ship. Report back here when you find it. Lyle, go and scout the road to the port, see if you can find a suitable point for an ambush."

"What are you going to do?"

"I'm going to get inside that castle."

* * *

Half an hour later, he slipped into flow of merchant traders moving towards the castle gates, which were now wide open, but guarded. He gave one of the men a silver stag to hide under the canvas of his cart, and simple as that, he was in.

He had left his armour and sword back at their camp, they were too obvious. He was currently in his boiled leather underarmour and his travelling cloak, but he needed something yet more discreet. He saw a guard sneakily taking a piss up against the wall. _That'll do. _A quick smack over the head with a rock, and the man fell stunned. He took his clothing and spear, but most importantly his headdress. Addam had the paler complexion of a man from north of Dorne, so knew that his only chance of not being detected lay in covering his face.

He spent longer than he would have liked wandering the corridors of Sunspear, trying to find one of his 'targets'. Once, he had caught sight of Tyrion and a young woman he assumed was Sansa Stark. Her pale complexion marked her out as a Northerner, and she had the Tully hair. It must be her. He had practically run round the courtyard to catch up with them, but by the time he reached where they had been, they had gone. Cursing under his breath he continued his search. He walked out onto a balcony and sat down in a chair to catch his breath.

"What are you doing?" He looked up and saw none other than Cersei Lannister staring at him. She had come through the arch at the opposite end to Addam and was now glaring at him. Walking towards her, he grabbed her arm and pulled her inside. He closed the door and turned back to her, only to find a knife at his throat.

"Who are you and what are you doing?" She hissed.

"Easy, easy." He said, pulling off the headdress. "It's me, Addam Marbrand."

"What are you doing here ser?"

"Your father sent me, and two others to get you out of here. We're to take you to a ship waiting on the Broken Arm." The lie came easily. He'd never liked Cersei, not since she'd got him sent home from Casterly Rock because Jaime spent more time with him than her.

"We're leaving tonight, under armed guard."

"I know, for the Rock. Prince Oberyn told us when he refused us entrance to the castle. So I broke in. We'll rescue you on the road to the Planky Town, when they're exposed. Your ship has been given orders to move to join ours. We'll get you all out."

"Thank you, bold ser. The King will reward you well for this brave service."_ Yes he will, but not your King._

* * *

The three knights laid their plans carefully, they would need the element of surprise to have any chance of success. Lyle had found a part of the road with some thick bushes growing on one side. It had been the best land around for what they needed. They would attack from the same side, so they would not be isolated and alone. As night fell, they lay in wait.

"Hey, Addam, they're coming." Flem had the best eyes, so acted as their lookout.

"I see 'em too." Lyle loosened his sword in it's sheath. "Their leader's a bloody short chap."

"That's a woman, you oaf."

"Never. It's got no teats."

"It is! Look properly."

"Well fuck me sideways, it is."

"Do you mind if I don't?"

"Don't what?"

"Fuck you sideways. I mean I know I'm attractive Lyle, but I'm not Loras Tyrell."

"You little shit."

Addam's patience ran out. "Will you fuckwits shut up? Come on."

They crawled down the dune to the edge of the road. They just had to wait until the last horse passed...

"Who goes there?" The leader, definitely a woman at this distance called out, lowering her spear. Knowing they were found, Addam and his friends stood.

"Sers Addam Marbrand, Lyle Crakehall and Flement Brax. Sent by Tywin Lannister to rescue his daughter and grandchildren." He kept his right hand behind his back, on the knife attached to the back of his belt.

"I am Obara Sand, and they are in my charge. You want them, you'll have to come and get them." She evidently expected him to refuse.

"Very well." He flung the blade, and though the Sand Snake ducked, it took the man behind her in the eye. Flem and the Strongboar had their swords out and launched themselves forward. The Martell riders began to circle them, spears ready, but the track was too narrow for a charge, so their horses were more of a disadvantage than a help. He drew his sword and cut down another, who had dismounted before attacking. Flem was duelling two of them, while Lyle cut the legs out from underneath one of the horses, throwing the rider into the dust. He heard a shout and saw Tommen charging towards him, the lad had somehow got hold of a sword, and brought it down as he passed Addam. The soldier who had been sneaking up behind him fell to the ground. Tommen smiled at him before moving on. The Kingsguard stood over the King, cowering on the floor. Then she screamed.

He turned and saw Obara Sand, somehow still mounted, drive her spear downwards, into Myrcella's back. The Princess screamed and collapsed. The Sand Snake turned her horse and fled.

Cersei screamed and ran to her daughter. After a few minutes hugging Myrcella's body, the Queen stood and hissed, "Marbrand, get after her."

"Sorry my lady, I can't."

"Why not?"

"Her horse is Dornish, we'll never catch her with one of our warhorses."

"She killed my daughter. I will see her hang."

"I'm sorry, my lady but you won't see anyone hang ever again."

"I beg your pardon."

"Cersei Lannister. I have not been entirely truthful. We were sent to rescue you, but not by your father, by Kevan Lannister, Lord of Casterly Rock. The ships are waiting for us, but they will take us to King's Landing, and taking you to await trial by King Stannis."

"You traitor!" Joffrey screamed, "Robert, Steffon, kill them!"

Robert laughed. Steffon explained, "Do you remember who made us Kingsguard? Kevan. We're with them."

Joffrey's mouth hung open. Cersei was livid. Tommen asked, "What about me and Joff?"

"Joffrey will join his mother in the cells. You will return to live with your uncle Kevan at Casterly Rock. Well done in that fight son, you saved my neck."

"Saved a traitor's neck. That makes you a traitor Tommen."

"If I'm a traitor to you I don't care. You're a bully and I hate you." He walked up to his older brother and punched him square in the face. Joffrey fell to the ground wailing.

Lyle clapped Tommen on the shoulder, before going to pick up Myrcella's body. "We'd better take her back to Kevan."

"Aye, we had. Where are Tyrion and Lady Sansa."

Joffrey spoke up from the floor, "The Imp betrayed us, so did the Stark bitch. They're staying here."

"Lyle, you have the command, take them to the ships."

"What about you?"

"I'm going to find Tyrion and Lady Sansa."

"And do what? Break them out on your own? When they didn't want to come? Are you insane?"

"Maybe. But I'm going none the less."


	48. Chapter 48: Davos VIII

_NOTE - Another longer one this time, and back to King's Landing. Enjoy.  
_

_Davos_

He had been busy. With news of Renly's death had come the news of his Stormlords marching up the Roseroad from Bitterbridge to King's Landing. He had sent riders, but they had not returned, prompting his belief that they were coming to attack the city. The reports said the host was led by Lord Bryce Caron, a former member of Renly's Rainbow Guard. His home had been taken by Lord Balon Swann of Blackhaven on Stannis' command, so it was only natural that he was coming for his revenge.

Natural or not, Davos would oppose him. The only problem was that the city would not last long against a sustained attack. The City Watch was down to two thousand men, though they should last a bit longer in battle than they had under Renly's attack. Ser Andar had implemented a compulsory, rigorous regime of training for them all, and had purged the upper ranks of the corrupt, fat and lazy officers who had been responsible for the degradation of the Watch. However, two thousand men would not hold the city alone. The troops of the Narrow Sea lords remained, but they numbered maybe another three and a half thousand, still not enough. The levy from the Crownlands had been unpopular as expected, but the knights sent out to collect the soldiers had been successful, returning with another four thousand men. That made the total defence force of the city nearly ten thousand, but untrained, ill-disciplined and not ready for combat. Not enough to hold against Lord Caron's twenty-odd thousand veterans marching up the Roseroad.

It was a pity they weren't being attacked by sea. With the completion of the new galleys _Storm Queen, Falcon, Sea Eagle _and _Wild Wolf_, the fleet of King's Landing numbered some one hundred ships, all battle-ready and fully crewed. Davos had sent orders that the crews be armed and prepared to act as a strategic reserve should they be needed, but he wasn't sure how much use they'd be.

Ser Erren Florent had been good as his word, taking command of _Sea Eagle_ and command of all Davos' ships. It was to him that Davos had trusted command of the evacuation of Princess Shireen, should it be required. Command of _Wild Wolf _had been given to Ser Marlon Manderly, but he would also be fighting on the walls if it came to battle. That much he had made clear.

Despite all these efforts, Davos could not help but think they were missing something. The gates and walls had been repaired, and food supplies set by. He couldn't put his finger on it, but he was sure there was something. As he sat in his solar in the Tower of the Hand, a knock on the door woke him from his maps and itineraries.

"Come in."

The door opened and Rickon Stark walked in. "Can I ask you something my lord?"

"Yes of course."

"Ser Marlon's fighting on the walls when they come. They say I'm too young to do that, what should I do?"

Davos smiled, stood up and placed his hand on the lad's shoulder. "I need you to stay with Princess Shireen, and keep her safe." In truth, Ser Andros would be keeping the both of them safe, but it wouldn't hurt the lad to think he was doing something useful.

"They're saying we'll be going on a ship. Where to?"

That had been another debate in the Small Council meetings. Lord Velaryon suggested Dragonstone, where his bastard brother had assumed governance after Lancel Lannister had yielded to him. Davos was keen on this idea. He didn't trust Aurane Waters at all. Lord Celtigar had suggested Claw Isle, but that had also been dismissed because of it's proximity to the city and it's relatively weak keep. In the end they had settled on one place where they could agree that Baratheon loyalists would gather, somewhere that was already home to a sizeable army.

"Storm's End lad. That's where."

* * *

The news of her impending arrival came the next day. Davos was relatively unfamiliar with the customary welcome that was to be arranged for such an important guest, so left the practicalities to Lord Velaryon. When the time came, Davos dressed in something he would never have been seen dead in in his smuggling days, clothes that were not dull and drab colours. True he wore the black and grey of his sigil, but the woven gold hems were something he had opposed before the Princess told him that he had to look the part. She had made him a gift of them, and this was the first time he had worn them. The collar was a bit tight, and the arms a bit long, but overall, she had done well. Fastening his black-and-gold cloak with his Hand-pin, he walked out to the courtyard where they had greeted the Stark reinforcements, what seemed like so long ago.

There were not as many great lords and ladies or famous knights in the capital as there had been last time this had occurred, but Monford Velaryon had done his best. In addition to the Small Council members and the Princess, he had scraped as many together as possible to greet the new arrival. Davos saw Ser Andros, the only Kingsguard left in the city standing at Shireen' shoulder, Rickon at her side. Ser Andar Royce had command of the troops on guard and had chosen his best men for this task. He saw Lord Gyles Rosby coughing into an embroidered kerchief, Lord Rykker with his warhammer across his back, Erren and Axell Florent, cleverly positioned at opposite ends of the welcome party. Axell had refused to speak to Erren since he had taken Davos' offer and entered his service and taken to making a scene whenever he was forced to be near 'the traitor'. Davos made a mental note to thank Monford for that. Other notables included Ser Marlon Manderly, Davos' sons Matthos and Maric, Lancel Lannister, who had returned from Dragonstone after yielding, and Ser Justin Massey, the commander of the newly-arrived Crownland levy.

As she and her escort rode under the raised portcullis into the Red Keep, the Gold Cloaks snapped to attention, and Davos saw their commander grin, they hadn't let him down. The lady herself and her escort stopped and dismounted, before making their way over. The men accompanying her were primarily those her father hadn't needed for the war and must have numbered around fifty, with maybe five knights. The tallest of these helped the lady down from her horse. Her ladyship was not one whose beauty would set the world aflame, but she was certainly comely, and as she made her way towards him she seemed to glide rather than walk.

"Lady Swann. You are most welcome."

"Thank you my lord. I trust his grace's war goes well? We have been on the road some time, and have had little news."

"He has the Lannisters shut up in Casterly Rock and Lords Stark and Tully are moving to reclaim the Riverlands and the North. The problem is Renly's Stormlords. Lord Caron is marching them up the Roseroad as we speak. He is refusing to announce his intentions. I fear we shall be under attack before long."

"What about the King?"

"I have written to him requesting his help, but I don't know if he will be here before they are."

"Then we shall have to hold." Lara Swann held herself perfectly upright, her white dress tied at the middle with a simple black sash. She certainly looked regal enough. Davos hoped she was as tough as she looked. Having watched Stannis' dealings with his first wife, he doubted that she would have the easiest time of it. He wasn't abusive or cruel, just distant. The King had never been comfortable around women. Davos hoped she would teach him to relax more.

"Lord Seaworth, this is Ser Bryen Swann, the son of my father's cousin and captain of my guard." She gestured to the big knight who had helped her dismount.

"My apologies my lady, how lax of me, I must introduce you." He led her along the line of lords and knights, making introductions.

Lord Rosby managed to stop coughing long enough to kiss her hand and Lord Rykker raised his eyebrow in a rather suggestive manner, which she ignored. Lord Velaryon complimented her and Lord Celtigar asked after her father, whom he clashed swords with at the Trident. Then they came to Shireen and Rickon. The Princess curtseyed and Rickon bowed in unison. Lady Swann also curtseyed.

"My Princess."

"My lady."

Shireen was beaming after she was complimented on her dress and as he led Lady Swann inside, he saw her slip her hand inside Rickon's and the two of them shared a small grin.

He led his future queen into the Red Keep, and showed her to the suite of rooms traditionally assigned to the Queen.

"I apologise for the decorations, my lady. Nobody's lived in these apartments since Cersei left, so we've not got around to redecorating yet."

"It doesn't matter, my lord. You have more important matters to deal with I'm sure." She acted older than her twenty-three years. Yet she was to marry a man eleven years her senior, so maturity was no flaw, especially when Stannis was involved.

"If you're sure you're alright, I'll leave you and send your belongings up. We're having a small feast for your arrival, so I will see you're told when we're set to start." He made to leave, but she stopped him with a hand on his arm.

"Lord Davos, I was wondering if you might stay a while? I have a few questions, and you seem the best person to answer them."

"Of course, my lady. Should I sit?"

"Please do."

Once they were both seated, she turned to him and locked eyes with him. Her eyes were a deep green flecked with brown, giving them the look a deep pools. Davos felt himself wanting to look away, as if her gaze burned him. Then, she spoke, breaking the effect.

"My father said you are the King's closest friend and advisor. What can you tell me about him?"

"His Grace is a hard man, all agree on that. But I have seen him soften, particularly around Shireen, particularly since her mother's death. He has a strict military mind and tends not to forgive easily. He will never be unfaithful to you, duty is his mistress. He may well be distant at the start, but do right by him and respect him and in time that will change. He does not love easily, but it will come in time. Above all, get on with Shireen. He is not a man to wear his emotions on his sleeve, but he loves her something fierce. He will protect her like a lion protects it's cub. The only certain way to earn his approval is to earn the Princess' first."

"I suppose I'm lucky he's not here yet then." She joked. "Thank you my lord. Can you ensure I am sat next to the Princess for the meal tonight? And maybe the Stark boy as well?"

"Of course, my lady. Was there anything else?"

"Can you tell me of Shireen please? What she likes, how to deal with her?"

"She has not had an easy childhood. Her greyscale took her when she was a babe. Queen Selyse wanted to send her away to the Stone men on the Rhoyne, but Stannis wouldn't have it. He told them all to go to hell, called in the best maesters, sages and healers from both sides of the Narrow Sea, and they healed her. Ignore her scars when you look at her. She is shy because of them, but above all, my lady, be kind. She grew up on a grim island with no friends and a mother who hated her. Be kind."

"I will. Thank you my lord."

He stood and left, almost bumping into her captain as he left.

"My apologies ser."

"Not at all, my lord. I have fifty men and four other knights at my command, tell us where you want us and we'll be there. Lord Celtigar told me about the Stormlords, we can fight, me and mine are at your service."

"I thank you ser, but I think it best if you remain away from the main battle. Actually, I shall introduce you to Ser Andros Celtigar of the Kingsguard. He is the Princess' sworn shield. If an attack comes, and we cannot hold them, he is tasked with getting her and her betrothed away, your lady had better join them. I would like you and your men with them."

"As you command my lord."

* * *

The feast that night was held in the Queen's Ballroom in Maegor's Holdfast. All those who had gathered to greet Lady Lara were there and more. As requested, she was seated in the place of honour with Shireen and Rickon on one side and himself on the other. Others on the high table included the members of the Small Council and Lords Rosby and Rykker. Ser Andros and Ser Bryen stood behind the head table. Baratheon guards lined one side of the room, with Swann men on the other side. Davos didn't mind their presence but was determined they would not become the dominant force in the Red Keep, as Cersei's Lannister guardsmen had during Robert's reign.

The meal was relatively modest, but she was gracious and demure throughout. She danced with any and all who asked, and managed to resist Lord Rykker's over-familiarity without incident. As the evening progressed, Davos became aware of Axell Florent staring at her with enough venom to kill a man. The remainder of what influence he had was based on the two tenuous pillars of being the dead Queen's uncle and his service as castellan. The arrival of Lady Lara saw one of those pillars knocked down flat.

She spent a long time in conversation with Shireen and Rickon, but while Davos could not hear what was said, he saw the Princess smiling, and that made him smile. He gestured to Matthos, who gestured to the guards. As one, they beat the hafts of their spears on the ground until silence fell.

Davos stood. "Thank you my lords and ladies. Firstly, I should inform you that we have received word from King Stannis. He marches back to the capital with all haste, with sixteen thousand men at his back."

This was greeted by a cheer.

"Secondly, having informed his grace of the arrival of Lady Lara, he has made clear his wish to wed following his arrival, once the Stormlords have been dealt with."

Another cheer. _This lot have drunk too much_.

"Finally, it is my pleasure to officially welcome to King's Landing, Lady Lara Swann, daughter of Gulian Swann, Lord of Stonehelm and Lord Paramount of the Stormlands, sister of Balon Swann, Lord of Blackhaven, and future Queen of the Seven Kingdoms!"

A final cheer, and Lara blushed. She will be a good Queen, he thought.


	49. Chapter 49: Balon III

_NOTE - Back to the Stormlands. Enjoy  
_

_Balon_

Harvest Hall had surrendered without any semblance of resistance. On the second day of their stay there, Balon received the raven from his father.

_Balon,_

_I have heard of your success in the Marches, congratulations. Donnel has arrived to join my army and Lara has gone to King's Landing. I have seized Crow's Nest, Griffin's Roost and Poddingfield and now besiege Storm's End. Renly Baratheon is dead, yet his castellan refuses to yield to us. The other Stormlord will soon return home. Our pact with King Stannis should protect us, yet Lord Caron is now leader of their forces, and you have taken his home. Ser Byram and Ser Alyn Estermont report the seizure of Rain House and now move on Evenfall Hall. The full might of our house and the Mertyns and Dondarrions are our core. Other troops have joined us from those who have submitted. Morrigen, Peasebury, Connington and Trant have sent troops to me. But if Caron means war, we will need the King's help. I will not have our forces split and defeated seperately, march your men north to Storm's End with all haste._

So he had marched. His patchwork force of two hundred Swanns, two thousand Dondarrions and maybe three hundred Selmys and Carons, headed north. He had left Ser Manfrey at Nightsong, but not trusting the two of them together, had kept Ser Ryam with him. True to his word, he had requested the legitimisation from the King, and the lands of Ser Amos Redmond from his father, to which Lord Gulian had agreed. Upon receiving the documents, he had knighted Ryam, and sent him to Redmond's keep with three hundred Dondarrion men to claim his lands. His father had instructed him to keep his forces together, but he hoped that by leaving Manfrey at Nightsong, he would be killed should Lord Caron return to retake his keep. Manfrey was the real problem of the two, as Ryam had little in the way of brain, just an over-zealous sword arm.

* * *

They had arrived at his father's camp two days previously. Storm's End was heavily invested and Lord Gulian made clear his intent to attack and claim the castle as soon as possible.

"You will lead the assault party from the south, Donnel will lead the attack from the north, and I will command from the east. All three attacks will go in at the same time to prevent Penrose concentrating his forces. We estimate he has maybe two hundred men in there so it shouldn't take too long."

After he had dismissed his captains, he turned to his squire, "Go and get my armour ready."

The Lannister boy grinned, "Yes my lord."

Balon and Donnel had remained. "Father, what will happen to the fortress once we take it?"

"I will rule it until King Stannis appoints a Baratheon castellan. While he may have given us paramountcy, he will not give us Storm's End, not directly. Any children of Lara's will inherit it."

"Not the Iron Throne?" Donnel sounded almost insulted.

"No. His Grace was very clear on that. Only if Shireen dies will Lara's children inherit the Iron Throne. Boy or girl, Princess Shireen is his designated heir."

"But thats... outrageous. The law clearly states."

"He is the King, Donnel! He is the law."

"But he is cheating us."

"Of what? Stannis made us a great house, with dominance of a whole kingdom. We have two seats now, and will hold Storm's End in trust. We have become great under King Stannis, boy. We can ask no more of him."

Before Donnel could continue his fruitless argument, Balon interrupted. "Father, when were you planning on telling us about Cassana?"

"Who?" Though his voice was normal, his back stiffened and the colour drained from his face.

"Cassana Storm, wife of Ser Rolland Storm and your bastard daughter."

"I have no idea -"

"Father. She was at Nightsong when I took it. She told me who she was, how you sent money to her mother but would not publicly acknowledge her. I don't want to know why you were unfaithful to mother, I want to know why you didn't tell us."

"Sit." They did so. "Twenty years ago, in the Weeping Town, I made a terrible mistake. I slept with a miller's daughter, I will not tell you how it came about, but suffice to say I soon found out that the girl was pregnant. My father told me to have her drink moon tea, so I went back to find her, but couldn't bring herself to do it. I sent her money to feed the child and see her brought up, and when the time came, I arranged a good marriage for her. Truth be told, I had to call in all the favours Old Lord Caron owed me, and now his son marches against me."

"Why didn't you tell us?"

"I have spent my life teaching you to be honourable and of the importance of remaining faithful to your wife. How seriously would you have taken me if I had my own bastard? How much would it hurt you knowing what I'd done to your mother? How much would it have hurt her? Later I heard that Ned Stark brought his bastard son back from the Rebellion, and his wife begged him to make him a Stark, and hated the child so much. I couldn't do that to your mother, nor to the girl. She had a happy childhood, and wanted for nothing. I made sure of that."

They were interrupted by a messenger. "My lord?"

"What?"

"Ser Cortnay Penrose has agreed to another parley my lord."

"I'm on my way."

* * *

The three Swanns made their way to the gate of Storm's End, halting just outside arrow range. The walls of the fortress were intimidating, at least a hundred feet high, and apparently seamlessly carved of black stone. Balon could see the great drum tower thrusting into the sky like an armoured fist, Renly's golden stag flying from it's summit. Then the gates began to open.

A party of horsemen rode out, at their head a man with a completely bald head and a huge spade of a beard as the same orange colour as his standard.

Ser Cortnay Penrose halted his horse two spears lengths away. "You're still here Swann."

"I am, and I will be long after you are dead."

"What do you want from me?"

"Your surrender, your castle and Robert Baratheon's bastard."

"Why should I give you them?"

"Renly is dead. The Stormlands are mine. You know as well as I do that your men will not stand against our attack. You have done right by your King, however wrong your choice was. Surrender ser, and live."

"Why do you want the boy?"

"He is Robert Baratheon's seed. He could provide the figurehead for future rebellion against the King. Hand him over."

"He is not here."

Donnel laughed, "And I'm fucking Cersei Lannister."

"I tell it true, my lord. He is not here."

"Where is he?"

The knight next to Cortnay spoke up, "Over the Narrow Sea. Dropped him off in Lys myself, with a guard of four knights. I don't where they've gone from there though."

"Ser Corliss Penny I believe?"

"Yes my lord."

"If this is true, you will be imprisoned with Ser Cortnay to await King Stannis' judgement. Penrose, you are a good man, but stubborn. Stand down ser, and save lives."

Penrose drew his sword and threw it to the ground. "Very well, Storm's End is yours my lord."


	50. Chapter 50: Shireen II

_NOTE - To those who are interested, a new fic of mine should be appearing in the next few days - "Lions, Red and Gold". Following my addiction to writing Kevan Lannister chapters, I decided to detail the events that led to and took place during the Reyne-Tarbeck rebellion. It will be written only when I get stuck on this fic, so it won't be updated as frequently. Hope you check it out.  
_

_This chapter returns to King's Landing, and the joys of dealing with the Stormlords. Enjoy, review, etc.  
_

_Shireen_

Lord Caron's army had been camped a mile from the city for three days. The Onion Lord said they'd sent no ravens or riders, so he had no idea what they planned. Her father was due home any day, with his army. She wondered what he would think of Lady Lara. Would he make her call her mother? Shireen didn't think she'd mind that, she liked Lara. She had invited her to join her for lunch only the day before, and she had told her about growing up in Stonehelm, how her brothers were always fighting, the master of arms with his voice like rolling thunder, her father being a distant figure who she only saw every few days. In return Shireen told her about her distant father, her mother and her time on Dragonstone. Soon the discussion had turned to dragons, and then somehow, marriage.

"Can I ask you something Princess?"

"Yes."

"Do you think your father will like me?"

She had not expected that question, and she had to think about the answer. "I think so. He doesn't like affection or touching much, I've only ever had one real hug from him. But he will like you, just give him time."

Lara sighed, "That's a relief, but what about you? How go things with your betrothed?"

"Rickon's just a boy. He turned twelve three days ago. Just after I turned fourteen."

"What did he get you for your nameday?"

"This." She held up the necklace she wore. It was a black stag, carved in onyx and a pearl wolf, both on a chain of links alternating gold and silver.

"It's beautiful, Princess."

Yes it was. She had had her doubts about Rickon, she'd heard he was a wild creature and savage. She had seen him training with the other boys, and knew that it was true to some extent. She had seen him flatten boys much older than he was, not only through that wildness, but with no small amount of skill. Many said that Shaggy was the reason for his wildness, and she thought that made sense. Yet the wolf had been nothing but sweet with her, often resting his head on her lap when she sat watching Rickon fight, or chased her through the godswood. Shaggy had caught her once or twice and pinned her down, licking her face until Rickon called him off. They had all had doubts about Rickon, especially her father. She had had doubts, but they were gone now. Yes he was young, but that was no bad thing. He was tall for his age, and his head could rest on her shoulder. He would be taller than her before long. She knew that she would be spending her life with him, and for the first time in her life, that didn't bother her. In fact, she was relishing the prospect.

* * *

They awaited her father's arrival in the courtyard. She seemed to have been doing this a lot lately. Ser Andros stood behind her, her silent white knight. Rickon fidgeted beside her and as she placed her hand on his arm to still him, Shaggy forced himself between them and sat down, he had grown during his stay at the Red Keep, so that now his head was level with his master's shoulder. The cook had been reluctant to feed him a hunk of meat every day, but had consented to have one thrown into the godswood for him, and Shaggy showed no signs of stopping his growth. She rubbed the direwolf's head and his ears pricked up as he heard the sound of hooves on the cobblestones.

The King entered the courtyard at a quick trot, his gold cloak flowing behind him, his face set in a grim expression. Behind him, others she recognised as Lord Royce and the rest of the Kingsguard rode up. Then she realised there were five white cloaked knights, where only four had left with him. Lord Commander Ser Triston Tally she knew, as she did Ser Lucas Rambston, Ser Harlan Hunter and Ser Jasper Redfort. The other knight had the look of a northerner, a pale complexion and large build. She asked Davos who it was and he replied, "Ser Donnel Locke. His Grace told me of his appointment in his last letter."

Her father dismounted and approached Lord Davos, who knelt.

"Your Grace."

"Rise, my lord."

"We have been awaiting your arrival, the Stormlords are camped a mile down the Roseroad and have not replied to any of my attempts to make contact."

"We shall deal with them in time. First I wish to know the state of my city."

"As you wish your grace. May I present the Lady Lara Swann."

"My lady." He kissed her hand as she curtseyed, but his face remained unchanged. "Would you walk with me?" He asked, offering her his arm. She took it, her face remaining a mask of calm confidence. _He's met his match. _Shireen just managed to suppress a giggle at the thought.

They went up into the Small Council Chamber, and when Shireen stopped to wait outside, her father turned to her and said, "In you go Shireen, you'll need to see this."

She took up position between Lady Lara and Lord Davos. Her father sat at the head of the table and looked at his council. "Report."

Lord Velaryon began, "Your Grace, the crown finances are not in a good state. Despite Lord Davos' cancellation of the debts owed to the Lannisters, Tyrells and others who supported Renly of Joffrey, we have an outstanding debt of three and a half million dragons. Three million of that is owed to the Iron Bank, who have called in a quarter of what we owe."

"How much can we afford?"

"About half of what they ask for. My King, I could front a portion of the debt from my house's resources. Lord Celtigar has volunteered to do the same."

"My thanks my lords, you shall be repaid in time."

"That still leaves some five hundred thousand to pay, your grace. The crown can afford three hundred thousand. Leaving us two hundred short."

This time it was Lady Swann who spoke, "Your Grace, my father would be happy to assist in any way, we are not the most wealthy house, but we have some set aside."

"Thank you for the offer, but I do not wish to impose on my supporters too much. I have a plan. Each of the Stormlords who camp outside our walls will pay some towards this, by way of reparations for their treachery. What of the debts to other houses?"

"A total of five hundred thousand to Houses Waynwood, Florent, Hightower, Redwyne, Manderly, Rosby, Celtigar and Velaryon."

"Take the Hightowers, Florents, Redwynes and Rosbys off. They were traitors to my cause and either are still against me or bent after defeat."

"My king, Lord Alester will not be pleased."

"Alester Florent is dead, killed fighting Tywin Lannister's forces not a week past. The new Lord Florent is in hiding in Oldtown I believe. He is in no position to argue if he wants Brightwater Keep back from Garlan Tyrell."

"As you command your grace."

"Thank you Master of Coin. Master of Laws, how goes the city's defence?"

Lord Celtigar made his report, "My King, we have some ten thousand men ready to defend the city, but some are of lesser quality than would be hoped. Ser Andar Royce is in the process of reforming the Gold Cloaks, some twenty corrupt officers have been dismissed, and all those not fit for service are gone also. He says it's just a matter of tightening them up now, so they don't run at the first sight of blood next time."

"My thanks. Lord Hand, where is my Master of Ships?"

"Ser Erren Florent held the post for some time, your grace, but recently resigned. I have been covering his duties."

"Then report."

"The fleet is ready, your grace. One hundred and six ships, all fully crewed and ready to go. Some sixty-six full sized war galleys, twenty smaller raiding ships and twenty cogs. Mostly Baratheon, a few belong to House Manderly, the Narrow Sea Lords, or are mine own. Also, my sons have sailed to Dorne to deal with that matter you ordered."

"Excellent. How soon can they sail?"

"With the tide, your grace."

"Good. When we have dealt with Lord Caron, you will sail them south to the Arbor. You will crush the Redwyne fleet and secure Lord Paxter's surrender. Once that is done, you will add his remaining ships to yours and move on the Iron Islands. This King Victarion has defied me to long. You will bring the King's Justice to the Ironborn, burn Pyke to the ground if you must."

"Yes your grace. Might I take Lord Celtigar as my second?"

"As you wish. Now to business dealing with the Stormlords. I shall lead a delegation to their camp, and secure their surrender. Lord Davos, you will remain here. I shall take all the Kingsguard, Lord Royce, and Princess Shireen."

Silence met this announcement. "Your Grace, do you think this wise?" Davos asked, placing a hand on her shoulder, "What if they attack you? Then everything will have been for naught."

"I do not believe they will. Whatever else he is Bryce Caron is a noble man, with a strong sense of honour. He will not attack a girl, or a party under a peace banner. By bringing Shireen, I show him that I trust him, and that will appeal to his honour like nothing else." He turned to her. "I will not force you to go if you don't want."

Shireen straightened her back and replied, "I want to come."

Her father smiled at her, "Good. It will do you good. We will also take the Stark boy and his wolf, he will be taking up the duties of my squire and the beast may put the fear of god in them with any luck."

Again the Onion Lord raised doubts, "The lad is only ten, your grace, too young to be a squire and you have two squires already, my boy and Kevan's son."

"He's big for his age, and his duties will be minimal. He will be the Prince Consort, he will escort the Princess. As for already having two squires, I knighted the Lannister boy after he saved my life fighting Lord Tywin's army near Pinkmaiden. My lords, thank you for your efforts. Lord Velaryon, see to those finances, Lord Celtigar, ready the fleet. I would like Ser Andar Royce to take your post as Master of Laws in your absence, please notify him of this. Dismissed. Lady Swann, Lord Seaworth, Shireen, remain."

When the other lords had left, her father turned to his oldest supporter. "Davos, I am so sorry."

"Why your grace?"

"The reason I need a new squire, the reason I knighted Willem Lannister, is because of Devan. We were attacked from the rear, and he threw himself in front of Willem and took a halberd to the throat. It broke his neck, he died instantly. Willem stood over his body and defended it for over an hour, until Lord Kevan led in the reserves. I posthumously knighted him, he deserved that at the least. I'm sorry."

She watched as the Onion Lord's face fell, and he crumpled into his chair. He managed to splutter out the words, "Where is he?"

"In a coffin in his own cart, as befits a knight. He was a good lad Davos, I'm sorry. We'll bury him in the grounds."

"No. With respect your grace, I'll take him home, bury him in our keep. Marya begged me not to take him, said he was too young." Then before her eyes, Davos Shorthand wept. Without thinking, Shireen ran over to him and threw her arms around him.

Her father, genuinely sad, took Lady Swann's arm and turned to leave, "Take him with you when you sail, stop off at your lands, give him a decent burial. I'm sorry my friend."

* * *

They rode out the next day. Her father in his armour and crown, the six Kingsguard with their flowing cloaks. She, Rickon and Shaggy in the middle with Lord Royce. The big man had taken her aside before they set out and said, "Princess, if it all goes south, stick with me, I'll get you out safe."

"Thank you my lord, but I hope that won't be necessary."

As they approached the camp, she was amazed at the size of it. She hadn't expected there to be so many of them. Hundreds and hundreds of tents in organised rows, thousands even, and so many banners. The raven of Morrigen, the buckles of Buckler, the quills of Penrose, the hanged man of Trant, the sheaves of Selmy, the sleeping lion of Grandison, the lambs of Cafferen, Lord Wylde's spiral maelstrom and Lord Fell's forest and moon. They were guided towards the central pavilion, above which flew the banner of House Caron, nightingales on a yellow field.

The party dismounted and headed inside. Around a table stood a collection of lords, all of whom drew to attention upon their entry. One of them, wearing orange plate armour, stepped forward.

"Your Grace, I'm glad you could come."

"Lord Caron. I was disappointed that you supported Renly's treason over my rightful claim."

"A regrettable turn of events. But we are here now."

"You are, and set to attack my capital."

"That is not why we are here. We were merely waiting for your arrival."

"Why?"

The orange lord turned to the other lords and said, "Introductions first I believe."

"Fine. This is the commander of my vanguard, Lord Yohn Royce, these are the knights of my Kingsguard, my daughter Princess Shireen, her betrothed and my squire Rickon of House Stark, and his direwolf."

Lord Caron approached Shaggy and reached out a hand. The wolf growled and his hackles rose, but Rickon placed a hand on his back. "Easy Shaggy."

Drawing away from the angry direwolf, Lord Caron made his own introductions, pointing out the lords present. "Lord Harwood Fell, Lord Clifton Cafferen, Lord Ralph Buckler, Lord Hugh Grandison, Lord Durran Trant, Lord Arstan Selmy, Lord Selwyn Tarth, Lord Casper Wylde, and my second, Lord Lester Morrigen."

"My lords. Why are you here? You have not responded to any of the attempts to negotiate from my Hand, but you say you are not here to attack either."

"We marched to the capital to make sure we had your attention. We did not respond to Lord Seaworth because we wanted to negotiate with you, as you are now the lawful Lord of the Stormlands."

"Well, you have my attention."

Lord Morrigen stepped forward, "Your Grace, we know we supported your brother, and know what that makes us, but we ask that you return us our lands and homes."

Lord Wylde took up the story, "Gulian Swann has been storming our holdfasts and now besieges Storm's End. He stormed Crow's Nest, Griffin's Roost and Poddingfield. His son Balon has wed Allyria Dayne and claimed Blackhaven through her and taken Nightsong and Harvest Hall. Other forces have taken Rain House and Evenfall Hall is besieged. This abuse cannot continue."

"Lord Swann is doing exactly as I ordered him. He has been named Lord Paramount of the Stormlands. His son is lawfully now Lord of Blackhaven. I am to marry his daughter. I tasked him to take the Stormlands because they supported my brother instead of me, the rightful King. My lords, you will be returned to your keeps and lands with two changes. You're allegiance is now owed to House Swann of Stonehelm, and each of you will pay twenty thousand dragons by way of reparations."

"And if we refuse?"

"I shall destroy you. Your answer my lords?"

Lord Morrigen asked, "Will my son be given full pardon? He is in the service of Quee-_ Lady_ Margaery Tyrell at Highgarden. Guyard is a good lad."

"If you kneel my lord, he shall be pardoned. The same for all of you."

"I'll have peace on those terms." Lord Morrigen drew his sword and placed at the King's feet. In a flash of steel, the others followed suit.

She looked at her father, and saw him smile. "Rise my lords, pardoned and reinstated."

"Where do we go now, your grace?" Lord Selmy asked.

"Nowhere yet, but soon to Storm's End, for you have oaths of fealty to swear."

* * *

The wedding was a spectacle, though relatively simple, in accordance with her father's tastes. Still, it was possibly the most exciting night of her life. Never before had she been allowed to go to a feast such as this, her mother would always lock her away in her room for the night. The ceremony itself had been amazing. Lady Lara had asked her to carry her train, and she had been delighted to do so. When her father swept the Baratheon cloak over his wife's shoulders she thought she might cry.

At the feast that night, her father and the Queen had the first dance, before other lords and ladies began to join them. Her father sat down not long after, leaving his wife in the care of Ser Triston of the Kingsguard. Then she noticed Rickon in front of her.

"Might I have this dance, Princess?"

She glanced at her father, who nodded sharply. Delighted, she stood and practically dragged Rickon after her. She thought she saw some of the younger ladies of the court giggling as he danced with her ten year old betrothed, but she didn't care. Let them stare. She was used to the staring and the whispers.

As the night progressed she found herself dancing with many others. Ser Andros and Ser Robar Royce, who had taken the seventh and final place on the Kingsguard, Lord Morrigen, Lord Caron, Ser Rolland Storm, Ser Bryen Swann, Lord Rykker, Lord Seaworth, Matthos Seaworth, Ser Erren Florent and more took their turn. She even managed to persuade her father to join her for one dance, and despite himself he was smiling by the end.

Not long after she had finally been allowed to return to her seat, Shaggydog curled himself around her legs and placed his head on her lap. The wolf had been allowed into the feast on the condition of his good behaviour, and so far he had kept it.

Then there was a shout. "When's the bedding?" Lord Rykker took this up immediately, "Yes! The Bedding!" Soon the chant consumed the gathering, until her father rose, his wife blushing on his arm. As soon as they were down from the high table, they were set upon. Shireen saw her father grabbed by a group of women, one of whom was Falyse Stokeworth, and she immediately felt sorry for him. When she saw Lady, no, Queen Lara, being descended upon by the gang of knights and younger lords, she worried about her briefly, until she saw them gently guide her out of the room, without any of the grabbing and pulling that her father had been subjected to. Then she heard Lord Davos say, "I made sure they'd be gentle. I don't think they want to damage their new Queen. She might not take it well."

Shireen sat with Rickon for the rest of the night, trying not to think about what was occurring only a few floors above them. She hoped it would work out, she'd always wanted a brother or sister, and knew her father dreamed of a son. Her last memory of the night was being picked up and carried to her room. As she drifted off, she was dimly aware of someone tucking her into bed and closing the door.

"Goodnight Princess." Davos Shorthand shut the door and walked away. She could hear his footsteps go back down the corridor.


	51. Chapter 51: Margaery V

_NOTE - Just a quick point on Dornish inheritance laws. Unlike in the rest of Westeros, daughters inherit equally with sons. Yet, GRRM states in one of his Arianne Martell chapters that if Arianne were to marry Viserys, she would have given up her inheritance on becoming Queen, and Quentyn would become his father's heir. I have applied this system to the Yronwoods. Lord Yronwood's daughter Ynys is older than her brother Cletus, so she would be heir, yet she is married to Ryon Allyrion, heir to Godsgrace. Using GRRM's precedent, and the basis that as 'stony' Dornishmen, the Yronwoods are less Rhoynish than the others, this makes Cletus the heir to Yronwood, not Ynys, who gave up her claim upon marrying the heir of another house. Hope that makes sense. Enjoy.  
_

_Margaery_

The road to Dorne was a long one. However, the ride up the Boneway made the rest look easy. The harsh, rocky mountains towered above them on all sides, the sandy track turning sharply following the curve of the range's contours. She and Willas had made for the Boneway as it would bring them up to Yronwood, where Quentyn Martell was waiting for her. She had managed to get Willas to tell her more of this Dornish Prince, but what he told her was mostly what he had been able imply form his communications with both Prince Oberyn and their grandmother's letters from Prince Doran.

Margaery had learned that he was a well-meaning young man, aged eighteen and a knight. He also seemed to have a strict sense of honour, as evidenced by his decision to be knighted by his guardian Lord Yronwood, rather than his uncle, Prince Oberyn. As well as his preference to be dubbed by the man who had pretty much raised him for ten years showing loyalty, it also showed no small amount of political skill, as it avoided the presence of his uncle in the castle of Lord Yronwood, whose grandfather he had killed in a duel. His sense of honour may be difficult to deal with, given her plans for their marriage, but she would wait until they were alone to bring that up.

Other than that one potential, Quentyn sounded to be a very good man, and this added to his position made him a fantastic match for her, but she couldn't help thinking that it wouldn't work, and the reason for that rode beside her. Her raven knight had already adopted a flowing cloth, green of course, to tie around his helmet and stop his head becoming little more than a fried egg, and four days worth of stubble covered his cheeks. This aside, he was just as he had always been, tall, strong and silent. He was nervous, she could tell, even Willas had noticed. When her brother had asked him about it, he had replied with a tale of a rivalry between House Yronwood and House Morrigen, but that was not it. She could read him like a book. She leaned over,

"Is my big strong raven knight nervous?"

"A little, and how many times must I tell you it's a crow not a raven?"

"I know that, but raven knight sounds so much better than crow knight. You can be the raven of Crow's Nest. What's the difference anyway?"

"Crows are relatively small birds. Ravens are much bigger."

She giggled, "And so are you." He flushed, as she'd known he would. She liked to tease him, loved it in fact. Nudging her horse forwards, she began to question her brother.

"Looking forward to meeting your bride, big brother? I hear she's a beauty."

"I hear that too, and yes, I am. I only wonder if I'm not quite what she was expecting. It's like grandmother said, she'll want excitement, but I am no knight or a great warrior. I am a cripple."

"No you're not a knight. But you have victories and battles under your belt. You fought the Ironborn at sea, you took Crakehall, despite your bad leg. Self-pity doesn't suit you Willas."

"It's not self-pity, it's her I feel sorry for. She probably dreams of someone to sweep her off her feet and that is not me. That's Loras or Garlan."

"Enough Willas. You focus too much on what you don't have rather than what you do. No, you're not as handsome as Loras, but you are good-looking compared to anyone who isn't Loras, plus you're actually interested in women. No, you're not as strong as Garlan, but you're kinder. He may mean well, but his wife tells me that she gets fed up of his constant joking around, especially when he's the only one who finds it funny. You can joke, but are more serious than Garlan. You will treat her well, be faithful to her, which is more than can be said for most Lords. You don't have any bastards hidden away. Plus you have something that no-one else does. Highgarden."

"Not yet."

"But you will."

"I hate it when you're right. I do feel a bit sorry for Loras though, he is getting the worst deal."

"Yes, he'll hate absolutely hate it. Especially having to have a woman handle him instead of Renly."

"He already knows what that feels like though doesn't he? You must be getting quite good, all this experience you're getting. First Loras, then Renly, now Ser Guyard here."

"What? How do you know about that?"

"Come on, Margaery, everyone but mother and father know about that. Loras told me what he was before he left for Storm's End, and of your little exploits. His little sessions with you were how he knew. It is quite funny looking back, how the woman who is supposedly the mos beautiful lady in the Seven Kingdoms turned my brother into, well, as grandmother says, a sword-swallower."

It was her turn to flush. "Don't tell anyone about me and Guyard. I love him, it's going to be hard enough to deal with Quentyn, I don't need all of Westeros knowing."

"We're family. My lips are sealed."

"Thank you."

"Unfortunately, Garlan knows too, so that means it'll be all over the Reach by now."

She slapped him for that.

* * *

The castle loomed high above the sandy road that passed under it's western wall. Built from the same sandblasted red stone as the surrounding mountains, Yronwood would have been formidable enough if it hadn't been so huge. At least eight mighty round towers thrust upward into the sky, each flying the portcullis on sand of the Yronwoods, all enclosed by walls at least sixty feet high. It looked to be carved straight from the mountains themselves, such that it was difficult to tell where the rock face ended and the walls began. Most impressive of all was the huge portcullis that guarded the passage into the castle. As their party approached, it groaned into life and rose just high enough for them to ride underneath.

The first thing she noticed as she emerged on the other side was the gathering of people waiting for them. In addition to the dozen or so scale armoured guards, there was a group of tanned, blond men and women, all in the flowing silks of their homeland. As soon as they dismounted, a large middle-aged man came forward.

"My lord and lady Tyrell, welcome to Yronwood." The man, with his blond hair and blue eyes, could only be Lord Anders Yronwood.

Willas seemed to know what to expect, so she followed his lead. "Thank you my lord. We apologise for descending on you at such short notice."

"Not at all. You're the first guests we've had for a long time. Dorne has become somewhat isolated these last few months. Come, I'll introduce you." He practically pulled them over to the rest of the gathering.

"My daughter, Ynys, her husband Ser Ryon Allyrion, their children Edgar and Larra, and Ser Ryon's natural son, Ser Daemon Sand."

"A pleasure." She had heard that the Dornish treated their bastards differently, but she was surprised to find one so openly, especially in front of his father's wife. She briefly thought of what she'd heard of Lord Stark and his bastard son, Snow, she thought his name was.

"You are a long way from Godsgrace, Ser Ryon. Unusual to see a sandy so far north." Her brother was saying.

The knight was darker than the gathered Yronwoods, much darker, she remembered Willas' brief lesson on Dornish culture and people. The three types of Dornishmen were distinguished mainly by their skin tone. The lightest were the 'stony' Dornishmen, who lived in the Red Mountains, away from the deserts, houses such as Yronwood, Fowler and Dayne were leading 'stonies'. Then there were the 'salties' from the coast line, such as the Martells, Gargalens and Jordaynes. Darkest of all were the 'sandy' Dornishmen, from the deserts far from coast or mountain. The Allyrions were one such house, she recalled, others being Qorgyle and Uller.

"Indeed I am, my lord, but when the Prince of Sunspear commands, I obey. It is nice to hear that you know your Dornish peoples, so few outsiders do these days."

"I keep in contact with Prince Oberyn, we share a passion for horseflesh and hawking. I picked up a few things."

Lord Yronwood pressed on. "This is my son Cletus, and my youngest daughter Gwyneth." Cletus Yronwood's lazy eye distracted her slightly, but aside from that, he was a reasonably handsome knight, whereas young Gwyneth could have been barely twelve.

"And the man of the hour, fresh knighted by my own good self, Ser Quentyn, of House Martell, Prince of Dorne." He clapped the lad on the shoulder as he introduced him.

"My lady." He was a salty Dornishman, but paler than she'd expected. Willas had told her his mother was Norvoshi, that must be why. He was not tall, a bit short in fact, stocky, and plain faced. But he was courteous and looked honest, if a little scared.

Lord Anders once again took control. "Let's not all stand here gawping all day, come on in." He led them over towards the castle door, which opened before them. Taking his lady wife's arm, he walked straight down the corridor. Following his lead, Ser Ryon took Ynys' arm, and Quentyn offered Margaery his. She took it and flashed a grin at Willas. Not wishing to be outdone, he extended his arm to young Gwyneth, who squealed with delight and practically pulled his arm off.

When the door at the other end of the corridor opened, both Margaery and Willas gasped. Instead of, as they had expected, opening onto a Great Hall or another courtyard, before them lay an extensive manse and garden surrounded by a wall of red stone, and beyond that a vast expanse of fertile farmland leading down to the sea.

She heard Quentyn whisper in her ear, "Wonderful isn't it? My reaction was the same when I first came here. The Gardens of the Bloodroyal, the seat of the old High Kings of Dorne."

"But how?"

"The Castle Yronwood is one of Dorne's greatest fortresses, it has never been taken, and the armies of the Storm Kings and the Reach crashed upon it like waves on the cliffs. It guards the Boneway to the north, carved out of the rock of the very mountains themselves. The castle is built against an arete ridge, where the rock is relatively thin. The Bloodroyal Corridor leads from the Yronwood, through the mountain itself to the other side of the ridge, where the Yronwoods truly live. It's beautiful, and now you're here it's not the only thing. I know it's cliche, but I mean it. You are."

Despite herself, she found she was blushing. _What is happening to me? I've only known him five minutes, and it's not like he's as handsome as Guyard._ Though unusually, the thought of her raven knight did not stir her as much as it normally did. Shaking it aside, she continued listening to Quentyn talking about the history of Yronwood and the Yronwoods.

"You speak as if you were an Yronwood, not a Martell."

"Sometimes I think it would have been easier. I came here when I was eight, my memories of Sunspear are strained. I grew up here, believing I'd marry Gwyneth when she flowered, and remain here all my life, but now..." he tailed off. "I am sorry my lady, you don't need to hear this."

"Not at all, it shows you're human. I always thought I'd marry some Reachlord's son and run his castle. Then Renly happened, and eventually, here we are."

They had somehow ended up alone, the others obviously having moved on. Only Ser Guyard remained, her eternal guard, her shadow, her raven knight.

"Who is he?" Quentyn asked.

"He is my sworn sword and shield. Ser Guyard Morrigen, formerly of Renly's Rainbow Guard."

"He's more than that isn't he?"

"My Prince?"

"I know the look he gives you. It's the look Ryon gives Ynys, the look Cletus gives to every tavern wench this side of Hellholt. He's your paramour isn't he?"

"I...I...yes." What was going on? Wasn't she supposed to be revealing this to an unsuspecting future husband?

"My uncle has a paramour, Ellaria Sand."

"You're not angry?"

"No. I'm a little saddened, but then, I'm not surprised. A woman of such beauty, I knew it was too good to be true when my father told me you were a maiden."

"A maiden? He knew I was married to Renly!"

"Yes, but with no child, and his known tendencies, it was assumed that you never... I am sorry my lady, I should leave you." He turned to go, but she grabbed his arm.

"Please don't go. I wasn't planning on bringing this up for a few days, but seeing a you know. Guyard! Come here would you please?" Her raven knight was there in an instant. "He guessed." It was all she had to say. Then, Guyard did something she had not expected. He knelt.

"My Prince, I must apologise for my actions, I swear that it will not happen again, but I would wish to remain in my lady Margaery's service, and by extension, enter yours. If you do not believe me I shall swear whatever oaths you require, on my honour as a knight."

Quentyn was shocked. "Ser, rise. I understand your actions, even if I am uncomfortable with the thought of your remaining around us, a permanent reminder that my wife might be sleeping with her sworn shield. Yet, I do not think I can send you away."

Now was her chance, "Have you considered that we might not have to cease our relations?"

"Yes, I believe you will. If my sister marries Aegon, I will become Dorne's ruling Prince, and my children must be mine, and mine alone. I understand you my lady, but I feel we have two options, he stays and it ends, or he goes and it ends."

Guyard, now standing again, turned to her and kissed her cheek. "My lady, it has been a pleasure. It's for the best." He turned on his heel and began to walk away. Before she could call out, Quentyn did.

"Ser Guyard! A word please, in private?" He approached the knight and the two of them disappeared briefly behind a tall orange tree. Before long, they returned and both were smiling.

"My lady, Ser Guyard has agreed to remain in your service, as your sworn shield. Ser, If we could have a moment?" The knight walked away and once he was out of earshot, she began to question him.

"That's excellent! How did you get him to agree?"

"I told him that I would be needing a knight to train our children in swordplay and other knightly pursuits, should they wish to. Also that I would need a captain of guard and a strong right-hand, above Dorne's inner politics. I offered him that position, and should he wish it, a wife of good standing."

"I don't understand, how does that solve our problem?"

"You wait until he meets my cousins, the Sand Snakes are many things, but they wear their emotions on their sleeves, and believe me when I say that they will fight each other to get hold of him."

"But what about me? I...I love him, my prince."

"All I ask is that you give me a chance to let me love you. In time, if you are not happy, and cannot bring yourself to love me, then by all means, go ahead, it's not unusual, not in Dorne. All I ask is time."

She threw herself at him and kissed him hard. He stiffened, before relaxing into it, holding her tight to him. He was obviously not a practiced kisser, but he wasn't bad. She found herself thinking it might not take too much time to love her Prince.

* * *

They headed out of the Yronwood's main gate back onto the Boneway, which led down to the plateau where the half of Dorne's fighting force was gathered.

"They were summoned when my brother's betrothal to Myrcella was announced. Some show for the Lannisters that we would support them, but my father is ever cautious, so they have not moved for a good few moons now." The Prince told her.

They made for Sunspear, a long ride through the desert. Willas had managed to escape Gwyneth at the gate, but left her crying, she had attached herself to him throughout their stay. Ser Cletus and twenty of Lord Yronwood's riders had joined their company, with a personal request for orders fro Prince Doran.

As she covered her face with the green silk scarf Quentyn had given her, she saw Ser Guyard, her brother and her betrothed talking as they rode ahead of her. Quentyn was the shortest of them, but matched Willas for brains, and had given Guyard a good run in their one-on-one two days previously, before finally being defeated. Margaery Tyrell had been a Queen, a Lady, a liar, a lover, and now was set to be a Princess. She had dreaded it for a time, but now... now she thought that she may not need the time he asked for.


	52. Chapter 52: Brynden III

_NOTE - I know the chapters have been coming pretty thick and fast lately, but now that we get into exam season the flow will slacken off. I won't forget to write, but the chapters will be fewer and further between for a few weeks. Enjoy.  
_

_Brynden_

He could here the preparations for the siege, men rushing about, gates being braced with anything heavy but portable. Riverrun was protected on all three sides by river, the Freys would have to risk a tricky amphibious assault to have nay chance of taking the castle before Robb's army arrived. Right, he'd had enough of this fucking bed. Pulling back his sheets, he swung his legs over the edge of the bed. He levered himself up to his feet, but his head swam with the effort and he fell back on his arse. Then he saw the girl.

"Arya, give me a hand, will you?"

"Mother said you weren't to get up and fight."

"I bet she also said that you weren't to fight either." She nodded. "Well, this is my home, I grew up here, and I'm going to fight for it, and so are you. You help me get ready now girl."

She rushed to obey him, bringing a tunic and breeches. He needed her help to get the shirt over his head, but luckily for her he managed the breeches on his own. She pulled on and tied his boots before helping him up. With her help, he managed to stand and not fall down again, though the effort was exhausting. Half an hour later, they emerged. Him in his mail, with sword and dirk strapped to his belt, her in what leather squire's armour could be found. He grabbed a passing man-at-arms, "Where is Lord Edmure?"

"On the north wall my lord. They're coming over the Tumblestone."

"Good, the current will push them downstream. Bring me my shield and helm."

The man ran off to follow his orders, and with Arya's help, he made for the north wall. As he climbed the steps, his nephew accosted him.

"Uncle, get down! You are in no fit shape to fight."

"Try and stop me." He glared at Edmure, "You may be Lord Tully, but I will fight when I want to. That clear boy?"

"But your wounds, the Mountain.."

"Clegane wasn't as good as I expected. He only landed three good blows, all of which are none of your concern. Now get out of my way and let me see the bastards."

He leaned heavily on the battlements as he looked out over the Tumblestone. There, a large Frey camp had been laid out, and troops were beginning to board large transport boats. Not just Freys though, there were other banners there. Haigh, Erenford, Charlton, those were Frey sworn houses, but there were others, Darry, Ryger, Goodbrook and Mooton. _Cowards. _Then it struck him, these were the houses that had remained true to the Targaryens in the Rebellion. How Walder Frey had gained the allegiance of Targaryen loyalists, he did not know, but it worried him.

Immediately, he was in his element, "Bring up crossbows, hit them while they cross, they'll be too busy rowing to defend themselves."

"Errr, yes straight away." Edmure looked a little uncomfortable at having his command usurped, but knew when he was relieved. "You have the wall uncle, I shall command the western tower."

"Actually, my lord, I need you here. As you may have noticed, I'm not at full fighting fitness. I will need your help." He knew this would soothe his nephew's sensitivities, even if he did have to put up with him sticking around.

"How far away are Robb's forces?"

"At last report, three days march."

"Good, so we don't have to hold out long." He pulled himself aside as a file of crossbowmen rushed to take their places along the walls. Turning to Arya, "Girl, go and get me two crossbows and as many bolts as you can carry."

As she scuttled off, Edmure turned to him, "Uncle, Cat will not like you using her daughter as a squire."

"What's she going to do about it? The girl has seen more of war than most boys her age, and proved a damn sight better at it too. If she wants to fight, let her. Plus, as much as I may not like to admit it, I needed help getting up those stairs."

"Fine, but you'll answer to Catelyn if she dies."

"I'll answer to Catelyn if she lives."

* * *

Not long after Arya had returned with the crossbows, the attack began. As he had predicted, the boats were crammed full, so missing the targets would be difficult.

"Right lass, while I fire this one, you load that one, and then we swap." Having given the instruction, he turned to the rank of crossbowmen. "On my order! Pick targets! Fire!"

His bolt took one of the soldiers in the shoulder, but the weapon's kick hurt his shoulder. As he winced, he saw Edmure and the others reloading, "Fire at will lads! Hit one of Lord Frey's spawn and I'll give you a stag!" He held out his hand and Arya passed him the other crossbow, beginning to reload already.

One of his men shouted back "They're all knights, my lord. Surely they're worth a dragon."

He laughed, "If you can find a Frey worthy of being a knight, I'll give you a dragon." He leaned out from behind the battlement and fired, taking another man in the eye.

They got several more volleys off before the boats began to land. "Crossbows to the towers! Swords to the front!" This was what he was born for, this was his place. Standing against the tide. Brynden Tully found himself standing upright, unsupported and he drew his sword.

"Here the fuckers come! These honourless bastards think they can just come in without an invitation! I would promise you money, but I don't have any. I would promise you glory, but there's no glory in fighting worms. What I will promise you is a damn good fight, and the satisfaction of watching them run away with their trousers stained with their own shit!"

He grabbed hold of the first ladder and pushed with all his might, another two men joined him, and they tipped it back into the river. All along the wall the Tullymen did the same, but there were too many and before long the Freys made the wall. He cut down the first man before him, though it took a lot more effort than it should. Looking up, he saw Edmure dealing with two men at once. He watched his nephew kick one man off the wall into the courtyard, heard the man's scream stifled by his impact with the hard stone, by the time he looked back, Edmure's other opponent was desperately trying to hold in his guts as they fell from his opened stomach. Whatever else he thought of the new Lord Tully, it could not be denied that he was a stout sword.

The second man was even harder to kill than the first. By the fifth, he had reopened the cuts on his ribs and arms through his exertions. Ten men later, he was ready to drop. Then he saw him. Hosteen Frey climbed the ladder and charged. Despite his reputation as a sword master and his Crakehall bulk, inherited from his mother, he was thick, and would normally have presented no problem. Now though, Brynden knew he would not survive the encounter. Nevertheless , he raised his sword and met Hosteen's blade. The impact pushed him back and he gritted his teeth against the pain.

"Come on old man, you're supposed to be good at this." The big knight sneered, his weasel face cracking apart to reveal yellowed teeth. He swung his blade in again, and Brynden barely caught it on his. Again, he was driven back, his balance gone, he collapsed against the battlements, just blocking Hosteen's overhead swing.

"The great Brynden Tully, brought low by a mere Frey. I can hear them now, Hosteen the Trout-slayer." As he raised his sword above his head for the final blow, he sneered again.

When the bolt emerged from his chest, his smile fell, "But what...?" He managed to sputter before he fell forwards, over the battlements. The dull splash announced Ser Hosteen's impact with the river below.

"Does that make me Arya Shit-slayer?" The girl stood there, crossbow still pointed at where Ser Hosteen had stood. She helped him up, and as he took in the sight of the fleeing Freys, she asked, "Why have they given up?"

He wheeled to face the south, and sure enough, he could see the banners flying as the army crested the hill. Stark, Bracken, Blackwood, Mallister, Umber, Tallhart, Glover, Mormont, Smallwood. _Robb. _

"Open the gates! Lord Stark is here! Open the gates!" his nephew was bellowing. Then Edmure turned to him, "I'll mount up the cavalry and lead the sally, we must do as much damage as possible as they run. The northerners are already amongst them."

He nodded, and Edmure ran off, calling for his horse. He saw the horsemen and heard the horns, but it all seemed surreal. Leaning heavily on Arya, he made his way down to the main courtyard.

"Arya there you are! What were you doing? You'll get yourself killed!" Catelyn Stark scalded her daughter.

"Lay off the girl Cat, she saved my life." He managed to say. He needed to sleep, he was aching all over. He could feel his wounds reopened and his legs burned with agony. He had done his duty, kept his honour, protected his family. Not bothering to wait for Robb's arrival, he made his way back up to his chamber, leaning heavily on a spear. He lay back on his bed and thought of Bethany.

As he wandered into sleep, he saw Hoster as a young man, begging his brother for forgiveness. _You stubborn bastard, I forgive you. I always did, I just wouldn't say it. _

His peace made, he slept more soundly than he had for forty years.


	53. Chapter 53: Jon IV

_NOTE - Sorry it's been a while. Even my own brother has started bugging me to write another one so here it is. Enjoy.  
_

_Jon_

He continued his duties with the Old Bear as usual, and tried to ignore Theon when he had to be near him. Unluckily, they had pulled the same watch on one night, Jon suspected that Mormont had something to do with that and was trying to get the two of them to get on. Theon had tried to speak to him a few times when on watch, but Jon ignored him. Then the Lord Commander called him to his chambers, and Theon was already there.

"Right, now Snow is here, we can get on. You two have prior experience of castle living and defence. You are going to the Nightfort with eight others. You will inspect the castle, and determine how much needs to be done in terms of repairs, and then, should you manage this properly without fighting, you will command there both during the rebuilding and after."

"We're to command a garrison of ten men my lord?"

"No Snow don't be stupid, I'll give you one hundred from Castle Black once you've reported. Jon, you are in command, Theon you are his second. You will both report back to me, separately, upon your return. The command will be your reward, Snow, if you manage this."

"Yes, my lord. One question, can I have a different second?"

"No. This rivalry must be put behind you, Theon's sins have been wiped clean, he has sworn his vows."

Then Theon spoke, "My lord, who else will be coming?"

"Ulmer, who commanded your escort back from Winterfell, Chett will have your ravens, Grenn, Pyp, Jarmen Buckwell, Rugen, Stoney Halder and First Builder Yarwyck."

This surprised Jon, "Surely he will want the command my lord? He is the First Builder."

"I have spoken to him and he will be going in two capacities, to assess the state of the Nightfort, and to assess you. Go and prepare to leave, Edd will take up your duties Snow, dismissed."

As they left, Theon tried to speak to him again, "Jon, I need to tell you -"

"No. You do not need to speak to me, you will not speak to me. My brother hasn't been heard of since you took Winterfell, though the story is you killed him."

"That's just it, Jon. I didn't, just a farmboy. Your brother escaped."

"You liar. You expect me to believe that? You disgust me."

* * *

It did not take long to reach the Nightfort. As soon as he saw it, he understood the rumours. The buildings were ancient, layered with ice over the black stone. As his party rode in, he immediately began to issue orders.

"Theon, take Rugen and Halder and go and see what state the stairs to the top of the Wall are in."

"Yes Lord Snow."

"First Builder, with me." As Yarwyck fell in with him, he said, "I know you're reporting to the Old Bear on me."

"I am, Lord Snow, but I am also here to inspect the fort."

"And what is your estimation so far?"

"It'll take work, a lot of work, and for a long time. The barracks will need sorting first, I'll have a look at them later. The defences atop the Wall will need work too, so will the commander's tower and the common hall. Also the forge, kitchen, ravenry tower and training grounds, and that's just what I can think of off the top of my head."

"How long?"

"No idea, I'd need to examine it all closer, but my conservative estimate is at least a year on a garrison of one hundred."

"So long?"

"Yes, it's a big castle Lord Snow, and you wouldn't be able to have all one hundred on the building at once, you need some on watch, some cooking, cleaning and the rest. If the Lord Commander gives it the go ahead, I'll give you one of my top men to oversee, and Bowen Marsh'll do the same."

"Did he mention any numbers?"

"You'll have twenty rangers, under Jarmen Buckwell."

"That's not many."

"You're here to rebuild, not kill the wildlings. You'll also have twenty stewards and sixty builders. One word of advice Lord Snow, the Old Bear likes you, sees promise in you, so do I. But you need to leave the boy behind, become a man."

"I'm past the age of manhood."

"It''s not about your age lad. Up here it's about your ability to command, but also to obey. Do exactly as you're told, and you might keep your command." Yarwyck walked away, leaving Jon behind, a little stunned by all he had been told.

"Lord Snow!" Stoney Halder ran up to him, "Lord Greyjoy sent me to bring you." _Lord Greyjoy? _Jon did not like that, but supposed he actually had more claim to the title than he did himself, so let it go. Following the young builder, he came to the foot of the stair. It was sheet ice, smooth as if there had never been a stai there at all.

"It'll all need carving back out" Theon was saying, "And the rail replacing."

"I can see. How long Halder?"

"That depends, my lord, how many men we got? What else we gotta build?"

* * *

Othell Yarwyck left two days later, his inspection complete. He had refused to tell Jon what his personal report would say, and he had taken Jon and Theon's written reports with him. Jarmen, Rugen and Ulmer left with him. Hopefully, Jarmen would return with the hundred men of his garrison, but Jon wasn't going to wait for word before beginning the work. As their only builder was a relatively fresh recruit, they couldn't attempt any major building works, but they did what they could. Jon kept his remaining men hard at it, joining them himself, clearing ice and rubble from the common hall and they had moved onto the barracks when Grenn ran up to him.

"Lord Snow!" In his new command, all of them called him that, even his friends, "A party of seven coming out the woods, mounted, don't look heavily armed, though one looks to be a knight, and another of 'ems huge, with a sword to match."

"Get your swords, men." He snapped the command, and led his men to the main entrance of the Nightfort.

They stood and watched as the group approached, they were a strange mixture. The leader was obviously a knight, there was a woman, a huge man and four children, then he recognised the woman.

"Osha!" He waved at them and called them, "Here! It's Jon! Jon Snow!"

The horses broke into a run, and though Grenn and Pyp reached for their swords, Jon held out his arm to stop them drawing.

It was indeed Osha, and Hodor, and there at the back, Bran. Jon ran forwards and practically tackled his little brother off his horse.

"What are you doing here Bran?"

"The Karstarks attacked Last Hearth, and Hother Whoresbane told us to go to Castle Black."

"You're a long way from Castle Black."

"We know. We're not going to Castle Black, we're going beyond the Wall."

"What? Why on earth? There's a wildling army out there!"

The small boy at the back of the group answered him, "Bran must go beyond the Wall to find the three-eyed raven."

"It's as Jojen says Jon, I can't tell you why, but I must go."

"No Bran. I am the commander here, and you will stay here. It is not safe beyond the wall."

The big knight placed his hand on his sword, "My lord Stark, I can make him let us through."

"No Harrion. He will let us through."

Jon remained adamant, "Even if I would, which I won't, there is no way through the wall here, it has been sealed for centuries."

The small boy spoke again, "No Jon Snow, there is a way. Beneath the wall we must go, to the weirwood face from my dreams."

"Your dreams? You're following dreams?"

"Jojen has the greensight, his dreams brought him to us, and he knows the way under the Wall."

"Did he say the weirwood face?" Grenn asked, "There's one of them in the kitchens."

"Quiet Grenn!" Jon snapped, "Bran, I'm not sending my little brother beyond the wall, and that is final."

* * *

He couldn't believe it, he was about to send his little brother beyond the wall. He wasn't even sure how Bran had convinced him, but here they were, Bran's companions and Jon himself, before the weirwood face. According to Jojen, it was a gate, which could only be opened by a black brother.

"How does it open?" Ser Harrion asked.

"He must speak to it," the Reed boy answered. "Lord Snow." Jon had decided he didn't like Jojen, he was leading Bran to his death. This three-eyed raven he spoke of sounded wrong, twisted, and Jon didn't like it.

"What must I say?"

"I don't know, but approach it."

He did as instructed. _Why am I doing this? This isn't right, what would father think? _The face's eyes opened, white and unseeing, blind with age. Then it spoke.

"Who are you?"

"Jon Snow, bastard of Winterfell, Commander of The Nightfort."

"Who are you?"

Then it came to him, "I am a member of the Night's Watch. I am the watcher on the walls, I am the fire that burns against the cold, the light that brings the dawn, the horn that wakes the sleepers. I am the shield that guards the realms of men."

"Then pass."

The face's mouth opened wide, wide enough for two men to walk abreast, tall enough for even Hodor to walk upright. Ghost and Summer plunged down into the darkened depths, and Jon, hand on sword followed. The tunnel was cold, freezing, and pitch black. The ice crunched under his feet as he walked onwards. He could hear the others follow him through, Osha muttered of the Old Gods, while Ser Harrion gasped at the 'witchcraft' of the face. Of course he would, he was a knight, one of the few in the North who actually followed the Seven. Jon smiled, he was well out of his depth.

When they emerged on the other side it was snowing gently. Jon stood watching the two direwolves tumble and wrestle with each other until, hearing Bran's voice, he turned.

"You've been inside his head haven't you?"

"How did you know that?"

"Because I've been inside Summer's. We're wargs Jon, embrace it, but don't spend too long with him, or you'll lose yourself." He sounded older and wiser than he was.

"How do you know this?"

"Do you not remember Maester Luwin's teachings or Old Nan's stories? Jojen says they're true, all of them."

"But that's not possible."

"It is Jon, but we must go, already winter is coming."

"Very well, goodbye little brother." The embrace was awkward, as Bran was in is harness on Hodor's back, but it was sufficient. As Bran and Hodor moved off, Jon turned to the knight and the wildling woman.

"Keep him safe, and know that if he dies, I will haunt you both."

They nodded and followed. As he turned back to the tunnel, Jon considered sending Ghost after them, but dismissed the thought._ That is Bran's mission, and I wish him well. But I have my own mission now._


	54. Chapter 54: Kevan VIII

_NOTE - Again, sorry its been a while. Don't know when I'll get the next one up. Enjoy!  
_

_Kevan_

He knew why Stannis had left him in command. It was a test of his loyalty, of course it was. He also knew why Old Lord Estermont had been named his second. The man was another of Stannis' stalwart supporters, and the King's uncle. Any hint of leniency or disobedience on Kevan's part would result in Lord Snapping Turtle taking command and Kevan most likely joining Tywin on the chopping block. He had first heard Eldon Estermont called the 'Snapping Turtle' after Stannis had left. His son Willem, now Ser Willem, had remained behind when Stannis marched east as he was no longer a squire, and it was he who had explained the name.

"His nose looks like a beak, his head juts forwards every time he speaks, he's old and wrinkly, his sigil is a turtle, and he snaps at people." It really was that simple, and now Kevan could not think of him as anything else. Yet still the point remained, how could Kevan remain loyal to his King, and not kill his own brother? Yet he had no choice, Martyn was in the Stormlands, Lancel in King's Landing. The safety of his sons was more important than that of his brother. They could name him traitor, but he would not jeopardise his boys. He had made his choice.

Since the King had departed, he had written to the Lords of the Westerlands, calling them to him to recognise him as Lord Paramount. The replies had been mixed. Ser Harys Swyft, his wife's father, had bent the knee with pleasure, Lord Brax and his eldest son Ser Tytos followed their kin in kneeling. Lord Crakehall demanded help retaking Crakehall from the Tyrells in exchange for his support, which Kevan had granted. Lord Damon Marbrand's reply had been simple, that he would only bend once his son Addam returned home. Lords Lefford, Lydden, Banefort, Drox and Spicer, newly elevated to rule of Castamere by Tywin, refused. Others had grudgingly bent the knee, such as the Serretts, Westerlings, Jasts and Farmans, but the most interesting letter had been from a knight claiming to be the son of Lord Roger Reyne, sent away in secret at the beginning of the Rebellion. This so-called Ser Roland Reyne wrote requesting the return of his home, Castamere, in exchange for his services. Kevan had replied, requiring the man to appear before him and prove he was a Reyne before his claim would be considered. Kevan didn't for a second believe the man's claim. How many knights rode with the Golden Company bearing exile names? Peake, Strong, Mudd, a man could call himself whatever he liked in the sellsword companies. This was not the main reason for his doubt though. He remembered the Siege of Castamere, his shock at Tywin's order, but he had buried his doubts, told himself it was necessary, done as he was commanded.

_Once the underground caverns of Castamere were sealed with rubble, the stream had been redirected towards the castle. Watching from a distance beside his brother, he had heard the cries of panic as the water began to filter through into the tunnels. The screams, both of fear and of pain. He glanced at Tywin, saw his face unflinching and stern. Tygett had ridden home only the day before, protesting at this measure. They sat and watched well into the afternoon, until the silence came. The last screams died away. Three hundred had sought the refuge of the caves beneath Castamere, and none had emerged. Tywin turned his horse and gave him one last order. "Burn it to the ground."_

The memories were as vivid as they had been the last thirty years. There was no way anyone had escaped.

* * *

Troops from those lords who had bent the knee had begun to arrive, but they were few now, exhausted by war and endless marching. Nonetheless, this allowed Kevan some measure of greater safety. He now knew he had the support of enough of the Westerlands to be confident in his new position. The only one of the major lords who hadn't declared for him was Lord Marbrand, and this he understood.

Lord Damon's father Lord Alyn had wed his daughter Jeyne to Tytos Lannister, and she then gave him five children. This made Lord Damon Kevan's cousin, unfortunately he was also Tywin's cousin. His response to the summons was honest, and Kevan respected him for that.

_I understand that my son has chosen to serve you rather than your brother. While this may be enough for Lord Brax, it is not for me. I will hear the situation from my son's mouth before I sacrifice my loyalty. Until I speak with Addam, I will not choose between my cousins. My men shall remain at Ashemark. I will not aid you, nor will I oppose you._

None of that mattered, not really. Only one thing mattered to Kevan now - dealing with Tywin.

It was long after sundown when one of his guards put his head into his tent,

"My lord? Your son is here, with men from the Rock."

"Send them in." Men from the Rock? Had they finally agreed to surrender? This illusion was shattered when a very tired trio of knights were escorted into the tent. Sers Daven, Luceon and Damon Lannister were dressed as common soldiers, their golden hair cut short or shaved off, faces covered in dirt and cloaks stained and shredded.

"Cousins, this is not how I pictured your arrival. Have you come to surrender the castle?"

"No, my lord. Tywin will not surrender." It was Daven who spoke, "He is a broken man, my lord, the illness has driven him mad, he does nothing but berate his men and insist that his house is the most powerful in the Kingdoms. Ser Damion, the castellan, spoke out, suggested a surrender. Tywin had him executed there and then, in the Great Hall."

This genuinely shocked Kevan. Had Tywin broken completely? Surely it couldn't be true? And such an arbitrary execution, for such a long-serving and loyal knight, sounded more like the work of the Mad King than his brother.

"Go on ser."

"We left, my lord. We've had enough. We disguised ourselves as common soldiers and sneaked out of the Lion's Mouth not an hour ago. Your sentries shot at us, but eventually let us through."

"Guard, take them away. House them decently. Send for Lords Brax, Jast, Crakehall, Serrett and Ser Harys Swyft. Willem, stay."

As the runaway knights were led out, a little less gently than Kevan would have liked, he gestured to his son to take a seat.

"Willem, what would you do with them?"

"They are our kin father, they chose us, I would let them live."

"I agree, but I will not have them in the Rock. I have been looking for Lord of Lannisport, to replace the den of backstabbers that used to rule there. I think I have just found one."

"Ser Daven?"

"Yes. It will secure his support, and he will be too busy trying to keep Lannisport in check to try anything."

"Why not Ser Damon? He is older."

"Daven is a more capable man."

"What about the Lannisport Lannisters? Ser Tybolt was enjoying rule of the city, he won't give it up easily."

"Ser Tybolt's father Ser Tyland was found after the battle. He had been the supposed ruler of Lannisport. An old man, but strong. He fought the Ironborn face-to-face in the city, but members of another branch of that family shut him and his sons out of the Lion's Lair when they retreated, leaving them to die. Even in their worst peril, they still fought amongst themselves. Tyland was found, his head near severed, sword taken. Of his sons only Tybolt survived. Of those who locked them out, not a one lives now. The Lannisters of Lannisport have been cleansed, they need clear leadership, Daven will give them that."

"What of Luceon and Damon?"

"They will join our forces for now, and I shall find them somewhere away from the Rock to live. Anyway, have you had any word from your brother?"

"Martyn? He wrote to say he's getting on fine and - "

"No, I know about Martyn. Anything from Lancel?"

"Nothing father, you?"

"Not a word, it's most worrying."

* * *

Morning came, and Kevan knew he could not put it off any longer. He had given the order. The attack would begin two hours after dawn. Eager to avoid any more shedding of Westerland blood by Westerlanders, he had ordered that the Crownlanders would lead the assault, with command held by himself. He would not let a non-Lannister claim to ever have held the Rock, even if only briefly. Plus, there was a sense of prestige in it - he would lead his men into his home, he would take his castle.

His son helped him into his armour, and he helped Martyn. Neither of them had squires, and finding them had been so low on the list of priorities that it just hadn't happened. Willem had wanted to join his father in the vanguard but had been told no. Kevan had a horrible feeling that all was not well with Lancel, why had he not written since yielding Dragonstone? If, gods forbid, something had happened to Lancel, Willem was his heir, and he would not lose him. Instead, Ser Artos Brax would accompany him in.

He joined the lead party at the foot of the causeway. Pulling on his helm, he nodded to Artos, who once again raised the horn and sounded the attack. Kevan was in the second wave, the first wave was led by Ser Jaremy Rykker, a veteran of even more wars than Kevan, despite having counted ten fewer name days.

Jaremy's men went over the wall. By the time the second wave was committed to the fight, the defenders had lost all heart. Kevan was surprised at how easily the Lion's Mouth fell. Then he saw the garrison, either starved or near that way, no wonder they had put up so little a fight.

"My lord Lannister!" Ser Jaremy shouted him, "I've lost control of my men, my lord! They've headed inside!"

"How many?" If it was only a dozen or so it wouldn't be too much of a problem.

"Nearly all, my lord."

"Gods." This was a disaster, the first wave had consisted of five hundred men. Loose in the Rock, without a commander and the bloodlust upon them, they would cause chaos. "We must stop them now, before they destroy my family. Follow me!"

Kevan Lannister drew his sword and ran in to the Rock.

* * *

The assault on Casterly Rock was not as clean as Kevan had hoped. None of Tywin's guards had been allowed to live, the out-of-control Crownland soldiers had killed them all. Kitchen girls were raped, even a couple of pages and stable boys. Once he had returned order, he headed for his brother's chambers. Ser Artos had told him that three renegade men had been captured leaving Tywin's solar, and that he was awaiting Kevan's arrival to enter.

Eventually he chose to set things to rights before going up to meet his brother, he wasn't sure he could. He ordered that those guilty of rape and murder and pillage be put in chains and sent to work down in the mines of the Rock. Large amounts of the Lannister wealth had been lost financing Joffrey's claim, and Kevan meant to get it back.

Lord Kevan Lannister and his son Ser Willem made their way to the chambers that had belonged to the man who made the Lannisters great again. Artos stood outside, with a few men holding the men they had captured. Genna was waiting for them.

"Kevan, I -" she began to speak, but could not continue. She followed them inside, and through to Tywin's bedchamber. There, slumped on the floor, was the man himself. Wearing nothing but a bedshirt and thin breeches, he looked much smaller. His skin was deathly pale and he looked as if he had aged even further than when Kevan had last seen him on the causeway. In his condition, it appeared that shaving had not even been attempted, a full beard of dirty grey-blonde hair had appeared connecting his whiskers. The pits around his eyes were deep and purple and his lips curled upwards in an evil smile. The image was disturbing, Tywin never smiled.

When Kevan's attention turned to the wounds, his rage and grief grew all the stronger. Three stab wounds in his stomach, still bleeding profusely, but most attention was drawn to the dark red smile across his throat, and the bloody stain where a crossbow bolt was buried to the fletchings in his bowels. The stench was awful, but Kevan cared not. He fell to his knees by his brother's side. The brother whom he had followed all his life, who had rewarded him well, who had refused his counsel and cast him out, his brother whom he loved. Not caring for the blood or the smell, or the others looking on, he knelt beside Tywin's body and wept. He wept for his family, whom he must now lead, for Jaime and Tyrion, for his own sons, for the Westerlands, for the realm, but most of all, he wept for himself, and for his brother. He knew not how long he knelt there for, but he felt Genna's hand on his shoulder, and heard her voice in his ear.

"We must make them pay, the lion still has claws. We look to you Kevan."

"I did this. I told him, I told him about Jaime and Cersei. I abandoned him."

"No, you didn't. He sent you away. Jaime and Cersei did this. Their incest birthed Joffrey, and when the world found out, the war began. He died of his own children's sin. We must avenge him, our brother. House Lannister is in ruins, but we will rebuild. We will take our place in Stannis' realm, and we will avenge our family's greatest son."

"Genna, he was the one who held us together, he built us up, he held us up. There is no other like him, no man can take his place."

"No Kevan, there is one. You."

"How can I? I turned on him, besieged him and my men killed him."

"Do you know why Jaime was never freed? Why Tyrion was never recognised as heir? Why Cersei was wed off to Robert? He wanted you as his heir Kevan."

"Then why did he dismiss me?"

"He needed the greatest Lannister on the winning side. So he chose you. His guards say he wept for hours after expelling you."

"How do you know this?"

"I spoke to him. Tywin knew his children had failed, knew he could only be succeeded by you if we were to remain strong. He taught you all your life. He tore apart all he built to keep his legacy alive, you are his legacy, Kevan. You and his boys. We must avenge him, bring the Rains of Castamere to those who brought him down."

"I cannot, he was always strong, I am not."

"You are Kevan. He knew it, I know it. Cast aside the servant. Become the man he would want you to be. For him, for Tywin. He wanted this."

Kevan took his sister's hand as he rose, and he heard the words in his head as he brushed away the tears.

_I need you Kevan, are you with me?_


	55. Chapter 55: Addam II

_NOTE - Another one, and back to Dorne, with more Sand Snakey goodness. Enjoy! This is the third edition of this chapter, with some pretty major errors corrected TWICE now (my thanks to tommyginger for that) - really need to get someone else to read these through before I post them. Anyone interested in beta reading please PM me.  
_

_Addam_

He had ridden all night. His disguise was as good as it was going to get. The leather armour and robes of a Martell man-at-arms, a Dornish steed, a headdress over a Dornish helm and a scimitar in place of his longsword. He had grown his beard out, but the copper hair had proved to be not at all helpful, so he had shaved again.

Addam had hoped his mission would be a simple one, return to Sunspear, sneak in again, convince Sansa to come with him and leave with all haste before the Martells could catch them. Yet it had not been so. By the time he had returned to the castle, he had found Sansa gone. Having searched her rooms, he turned to leave, but found a group of spearmen blocking his way. One of them stepped forward.

"Ser Addam Marbrand. We met at the gate, just before you ambushed my daughter and her column and stole the Lannisters from us. You didn't think I'd forget the man who unhorsed me in the Tourney at Lannisport did you?"

"Ser Manfrey Martell."

"Indeed. Now come with us ser, the Prince wishes to speak with you."

* * *

Prince Doran Martell's apartments were sumptuous to say the least. The man stared at him from his wheeled chair.

"You are Addam Marbrand, friend of the Kingslayer?"

He saw no point in lying, "I am. I was a page at Casterly Rock when we were both boys."

"I shall level with you ser. I have need of your services."

"My services belong to Lord Kevan Lannister my prince."

"You were sent here to rescue the Lannisters and Sansa Stark."

Prince Doran was renowned as intelligent, but it appeared that he really did catch on quick. "I was. My lord sent myself and my companions to kidnap them and return them to King's Landing for trial. I took them captive, and now you will kill me for they are your allies."

"I care not for the fate of the Lannisters. Sansa Stark however, I need."

"She was not with the others."

"Indeed not. She was to remain here and wed to secure our alliances."

"Wed who?"

"You need not know. Suffice to say she is gone. Disappeared in the night, with Lord Petyr Baelish and Ser Gerold Dayne, the Darkstar."

"Cersei told me Baelish was with you."

"I was warned against trusting him. It now seems that Darkstar was in his employ and he smuggled him and Lady Sansa out in the night."

"What do you want me to do?"

"Go after them, kill Littlefinger and Dayne and bring Lady Sansa back."

"How do you know I will bring her back here?"

"Because you will be accompanied by a group of my household, who will ensure you do."

"Who?"

"My brother's daughters, Obara and Nymeria Sand, will accompany you, along with a group of my best lancers. You will have command, but they will kill you if you cross me."

"Sounds like I don't have much choice."

"Not if you want to live."

"One question, my prince. What will happen to me once I have fulfilled this 'quest' of yours?"

"You shall be allowed to return to your masters."

"I will not go with Obara Sand. She killed Myrcella, an innocent girl."

Prince Doran sighed, "A rash act, and one for which she has been duly chastised, but she will accompany you. Nym will keep her in line. You leave at dawn ser, sleep well."

* * *

He was woken before sunrise, and before sun had fully cleared the horizon, the party had covered several miles. Addam was relatively happy, given his situation. As little more than a prisoner, he had expected the Martells to treat him like dirt, but they were almost welcoming. It appeared that they respected three things; loyalty, strength and intelligence, all of which they believed he had. True, he was the enemy, but a worthy one, and that earned him respect.

All this was explained to him by Lady Nym. She was much less trunculent than her elder sister, and much easier on the eyes. She had spoken to him most, explaining which route they believed Baelish would use and other necessities, but other things too. How she was not a maiden, and that she liked strong men. This worried him slightly, he knew what she was doing. Flirting with him to try and win him over would not work. He was a knight, and he had a mission.

Apart from occasional stops to eat and drink, they rode hard. By dusk on the second day, they saw them; a party of twelve horses, flying the banner of House Dayne of High Hermitage. He gathered them round to discuss the attack.

"We shall wait until it is dark, when they have made camp. Then we shall attack from two fronts; I shall lead the western party, Obara will lead the eatsern attack."

The muscled Sand Snake spoke to him for the first time, "I would have Nym command the archers to kill of the sentries before we attack."

He nodded, "Excellent. We have a plan."

* * *

Addam crawled forwards over the rim of the dune. He hated sand, mainly because it got everywhere. He couldn't remember the last time there weren't tiny grains in his small clothes, causing all sorts of unholy itches, but in Dorne there was no escaping it.

Littlefinger had set up his tent in the centre of the valley between his dune and the one which Obara's party now hid behind. There were four sentries, one at each corner of the camp, and the rest of the soldiers sat on the ground around a small fire. He prayed Nym would do her part.

The arrows flew almost soundlessly. Three of the sentries fell dead, while another was taken in the leg. Then he screamed.

"Seven hells!" Addam cursed. They had no option, the man had given the game away. He had to charge to try and salvage what was left of the element of surprise. Drawing his sword, he rose and gave the order, hoping Obara would do the same.

To her credit, the woman was obviously not stupid, and her men poured over the dune. Addam turned his attention back to his own attack.

"Kill the horses! Don't let them escape!" He slashed his blade across the throat of one of the beasts, bringing it up just in time to block an overhead swing from one of the Dayne men. He spun round, headbutted his opponent and stabbed him in the stomach as he fell.

It appeared that the element of surprise had been lost. Arrows no longer fell, with too many of their own in the melee. A silver-haired man was dueling with Obara, Gerold Dayne. As Addam looked on, his blade took the Sand Snake in the chest. The knight kicked her body from his sword and met Addams charge. Their swords clashed like thunder, the sand whirling around them, churned up by the feet of the combatants. A Martell lancer attempted to sneak up behind Dayne, but Darkstar spun and slashed the man's throat with his dagger, while continuing to parry Addam's attacks with relative ease.

He knew he had met his match, Ser Gerold was a much finer swordsman than he, but he could not give up. He renewed his assault, calling upon every ounce of his swordsmanship. He feinted in new directions, encouraged the man to attack him, but to no avail. When he did attack, it was remorseless. A blistering onslaught which Addam only just brought his sword up in time to block each time. Each time his response was slower, each time he was that split second behind. He noticed the cruel smile on Darkstar's face, the man was _toying_ with him. Then, he was too slow. The sword took him in the leg, and as he stumbled the dagger was thrust into his shoulder. His opponent smiled again, "Nice try."

He expected to die then, but he didn't. Dayne was knocked aside by a flying body and Addam fell to the ground. Unable to rise, he did not see what happened, but soon enough, Nymeria Sand entered his field of vision with blood on her knives.

Pulling himself upright, he managed to spit out, "Littlefinger."

She nodded, kissed his brow, and moved away. He lowered himself again, and the world went black.

* * *

He awoke under a canopy. Daylight shone through the tent flaps onto his face, Gods it was bright. He felt a wet cloth on his brow, and turned his head. Lady Sansa Stark sat there, dabbing at him with a rag. She didn't realise he was awake until he croaked, "Water..."

Gasping, she stood and shouted for someone. Another figure appeared on the edge of his vision and sat down in the chair Sansa had just vacated. Nymeria Sand looked at him, and slapped him.

He didn't have enough voice to cry out, but Sansa did. Her cries of objection, however, were drowned out by Nym's own bombastic verbal assault.

"How fucking stupid are you? Trying to take Darkstar alone? You and my sister, both fucking stupid! I thought you were dead! How fucking dare you, you stupid, noble, loyal, courageous arse."

He smiled, "I love you too, Nym."

She slapped him again. "My sister is dead! Darkstar is dead! Baelish is dead!"

"What happened to Baelish?"

Nym seemed to calm down, "I kept him alive when we caught him making for one of our horses. Then Sansa told me what he did to her, and I could not stop myself. I took my sister's blade and cut off his head. It will sit on a spike on the gates of Sunspear for the crows to feed on."

"What did she tell you?" He turned to Sansa, "My lady, I understand that this will be difficult for you to discuss, but I must know, or Lady Nym may have her head on a spike, we were ordered to bring him back alive."

Sansa Stark shook visibly, and was silent for over a minute before whispering, "He came into my room in the castle, said that I was in danger, and that Prince Doran planned to sell me to Stannis, after giving me to his men. I followed him, I thought he was my friend. The silver-haired knight was waiting for us and we rode. Then when we camped for the night, he came into the tent and forced me, while he watched."

"Who forced you?"

"Dayne, while Littlefinger watched."

"Did he...?"

"No my lord, just slapped me and made me touch him and when I didn't he hit me, he bit me, he put his hand..." She started to sob, and Addam couldn't listen anymore.

"Thank you, my lady, go outside and wash your tears." The girl ran out and the flap fell shut behind her.

Addam turned to Nym, but before he could say anything, her lips crashed into his. Next thing he knew, she was straddling him, and she was running her hand slowly down his stomach and further.

"Enough!" He caught her hand.

She pulled her hand free and slapped him again. "Have I not made it clear how I feel for you?"

"Yes, you have, but you must understand, I have duties, a task. I cannot abandon it for my own sake."

"Your own sake?"

"I feel just as you do. But it cannot be."

She smiled, "We have time." She began to undo his shirt, but again he stopped her, "Not here."

"Where?"

"Not here." He made sure the tone of his voice brooked no argument. "What Sansa said, is it true?"

Still astride him, she replied, "Yes, but worse. She let me bathe her. She has bite marks on her breasts, and some have drawn blood. There will be some scarring on them and her behind from his teeth. She is due to wed Willas Tyrell, but I doubt that she will be willing to consummate it after such a horror. The pain would have been agonising." As Nym spoke, her hand was once again moving lower.

He tried to ignore her, "We must take her back to Sunspear, so she can receive proper care." However, he was very distracted by her attentions. He was ashamed by his obvious reaction. He should be better than this, but something about her was irresistible.

Gods, the woman was insatiable. Addam blushed when she put his hand on her. He protested lightly as she pulled off her silks, but she leaned into him and he gave in.


	56. Chapter 56: Davos IX

_NOTE - Thanks to those who keep reviewing. Following the last chapter, I have made some changes to the previous Addam chapter. Thanks to those who review honestly and point out my mistakes and cock-ups. Have decided against a beta-reader for now, so will check my stuff more thoroughly in future! Enjoy!_

Davos_  
_

The aftermath of the King's wedding had been an interesting one to clean up, but luckily for Davos, Stannis himself had done most of the work. The ex-smuggler had, since learning of his son's death in battle, been spared many of his burdens as Hand, something for which he was eternally grateful to his King. Yet he knew that if he was to lead the attack on the naval forces of Stannis' enemies, he could not afford to wallow in his grief any longer. To that end, he left his chambers and made his way to the Small Council chamber.

As he passed a window, he saw many squires duelling and riding at the quintains. He was confused by this, but only momentarily, as he soon remembered. Rickon Stark's nameday squire tournament, an event that the King had mentioned to him a few days earlier. The lad was doing well, he reflected, and now being eleven years old, only three years from marriage to the Princess.

Moving on from his thoughts, he entered the chamber and saw a scene for which he had not been prepared. The King sat in his chair at the head of the table, his queen on his left and Davos' empty seat to his right. Others around the table were the core of the Small Council, the lords Celtigar, Velaryon and Ser Andar Royce. Also arrayed around the room were Sers Axell and Erren Florent and three men wearing the sigil of House Swann. The seven members of the Kingsguard stood silently around the room.

The King looked up, "My lord Seaworth, good of you to join us."

"It is my pleasure, your grace."

Ser Axell's response to this was acidic, "Your pleasure to place your own unmanliness ahead of the good of the realm while you cry like some pathetic woman?"

"Be quiet Axell. You shall not speak to Lord Seaworth again. Control your tongue ser." The King snapped and the knight subsided, scarlet with embarrassment. "Lord Davos, may I introduce my good-father, Lord Gulian Swann, and his sons, Ser Donnel and Lord Balon."

Davos inclined his head, "A pleasure my lords."

The King spoke up again, "Lord Gulian is joining the Small Council for the duration of this war, his son Ser Donnel has been named Castellan of Storm's End, and Lord Balon will be returning to the Stormlands to rule in his father's stead. But I wish all three to remain for now, join us my lords."

As the Swanns sat with the others, Stannis gestured to his Lord Commander Ser Triston, who dragged forward from an adjoining room a ragged wreck of a man and threw him down before the Small Council.

Ser Imry Florent looked up at his King, and brushed a strand of dark hair behind his prominent ears. "Your Grace, I never wanted to...never meant."

Ser Axell stood, his face thunderous, "What is the meaning of this your grace? Why is my kinsman in chains?"

Stannis remained calm, and looked only at Imry. "Ser Imry Florent, do you have a confession for us?"

Davos was totally lost, "I'm sorry my King, but I do not understand."

Stannis gestured again, and two of his Kingsguard brought forth the frame of another man, this one clad only in a nightshirt, slumped down, his long blonde hair covering his face. Dead.

Davos was shocked, "Lancel Lannister."

The King continued, "Ser Imry, do you have a confession for your King?"

The knight quavered and whimpered, "Yes your grace. I did it... I killed him... please don't kill me."

Stannis continued the interrogation, "Why? You have been one of my most loyal knights. Why did you smother Lancel Lannister in his sleep?"

"To...to...to cause dissent with the Westerners, your grace."

"So you killed the son and heir of the Warden of the West, in the hope he would turn against me. Why?"

"I...I...I..."

"So your family could benefit! You are accused, Imry! Is that why you did it?"

"Yes!" he wailed.

"I don't believe you did this alone, you don't have the stomach. Who put you up to it? What were you promised?"

"Ser Axell, my uncle! He promised he would make me his heir when he ruled Casterly Rock!"

Axell ran forward and kicked his nephew in the chest, "A filthy lie, your grace! I am your most loyal servant! Who but this wretch accuses me?"

A clear voice rang out from the back of the gathering. "I do."

Ser Erren Florent strode forward. Davos smiled. The knight had taken over many of Davos' duties, particularly the running of the fleet, while he mourned his son.

Axell was dumbfounded, "You? You would betray your rightful lord?"

"Rightful lord?" Erren scoffed, "You are my uncle. My cousin Alekyne is Lord Florent, not you. You are a traitor who conspired to undermine my King."

"This is ridiculous!" Axell roared, and then he turned on Davos, "You! Smuggler! You have done this! You have always hated me and my service to my King, much more loyal than your own!"

Stannis intervened, "Silence Axell! You are charged, can you produce evidence to defend your actions?"

"You need me your grace, need my family. You have nothing but a traitor's word."

"Do I? You and Imry here are convicted. Lord Alester is dead. Lord Alekyne is hiding in Oldtown. Ser Colin is dead, and Brightwater is taken. Ser Erren is loyal. Why do I need you any longer?"

"I am your most loyal servant! I ruled Dragonstone for you, I did. I am loyal!"

"Only when it suited you ser. You and your nephew here are hereby sentenced to death. I shall carry out the sentence myself, at dawn tomorrow. Ser Jasper, Ser Harlan, take them away. Ser Erren, I name you Lord Florent of Brightwater Keep."

"My King, what of my cousin Alekyne?"

"He has not declared his support for me, he has run and hidden himself away. You did not. You stood up and fought for your King, and so I name you Lord Florent until your family's position is made clearer."

"Thank you, your grace."

"Dismissed Lord Florent."

* * *

After Erren's dismissal, the King continued the Council's business as if the arrest and sentencing of two of his longest serving knights was only a piddling financial matter. Though a couple of the lords looked shaken, they continued with the professionalism they had shown during Davos' rule of the city. Lord Velaryon reported on the realms financial problem, which was gradually decreasing. Then Lord Celtigar made his report. While Erren Florent had dealt with many of Davos' household matters, Celtigar had assumed the external matters.

"Your Grace, news has reached us of Lord Stark's forces. He has liberated Riverrun from the Frey forces. The Blackfish and Ladies Stark somehow survived their kidnap by the Mountain, which appears to have something to do with Sandor Clegane, who has now completed the mission you gave him. Ser Gregor Clegane is dead, but so is Beric Dondarrion. Lord Robb is leading the Northerners to the Twins, and Ser Brynden leads the Riverlords to liberate Seagard from Black Walder Frey."

"And the Hound?"

"Riding west to join Lord Kevan."

"What news of the south?"

"The Dornish forces are still gathered in the Mountains, and the Tyrell forces have dispersed back to their own holdfasts, though they remain mustered and ready."

"They should be easy enough to deal with. Mace Tyrell is a coward, it is only a matter of time before he gives up now Renly is gone. And over the Narrow Sea?"

"The Golden Company have apparently refused six contract offers from Lys, Myr and Tyrosh."

"No matter, sellswords are fickle creatures."

"Your Grace, talk reaches us of Daenerys Targaryen. She apparently has three dragons and an army of Unsullied at her back. Ser Barristan Selmy and Jorah Mormont ride with her. Should they join her they will be strong enough to launch an attack."

"What can she do from Essos? Let her remain there and carve out her kingdom in Slaver's Bay. We shall secure Westeros, and should she attempt to return we shall throw her into the sea."

Davos spoke, "Your Grace, I do not think this can be taken lightly. The Targaryens never gave up what they believed their own."

"Not a matter for the moment, Lord Davos, but there is one thing to which we must attend."

"What is that your grace?"

"Lancel Lannister must be returned to his father. Florent was right about one thing, Lord Kevan will be outraged, and rightly so. I must do my utmost to appease him. I do not believe he will rebel, but I will need him in what is left of this war. TO ensure his continued support, Axell and Imry will be executed, I shall send for Alekyne Florent to come to the capital to explain his actions, and I shall return his youngest son to him. Lord Gulian, I am sorry to relieve you of your squire, but I'm sure you understand the necessity."

"Not my squire any longer, your grace. I knighted Martyn when he stormed the walls of Storm's End with me. He was the first man on the walls. It was well deserved."

"Excellent. I have no doubt that Lord Kevan will demand some other recompense, he is a Lannister after all, but this will show my good will."

A thought occurred to Davos, "Your Grace, Ser Willem Lannister is now his father's heir. Lord Kevan may well demand a royal marriage to ensure good relations."

"I have no daughters for his sons to marry, I will not break the betrothal to the Starks, I need the North."

Lord Swann coughed, "Your Grace? You may have a son with my daughter, Lord Kevan has a young daughter, only three I believe, he may well request a union there."

"I will not discuss hypothetical marriages. Only when a son is born to me shall any agreement be made, and even then it will not be binding, and will be subject my ultimate approval when they are both of marriageable age. If Lord Kevan wants more than that, he will be sorely disappointed. Send Ser Martyn to him with Lancel's body. Lord Celtigar, we still have Ser Humfrey Hightower, do we not?"

"Yes, Your Grace."

"Send him to Oldtown with a message. Alekyne Florent is to ride for King's Landing immediately, to answer for the crimes of his family. If he should not do as commanded, his lands and titles are forfeit."

"As you command your grace."

"Now to the final matter. Lord Davos Seaworth, you have served me loyally, and better than I could have asked or wished. You have, with help, reversed the financial fortunes of my realm, protected my daughter and her betrothed, been kind to my wife, prepared this city and increased our fleet. For your services I give to you and to your heirs, as long as they remember to whom they owe their allegiance, the island and fortress of Dragonstone."

Silence greeted this revelation. Then Davos stuttered out, "My king, you honour me and mine, but is this wise? Dragonstone belongs to your daughter, how would she feel about being deprived of her home?"

"Shireen has no love for Dragonstone, not for her wasted childhood. She has granted her approval to this plan. But that is not all Davos, I intend to create a new region of Westeros, that of the Narrow Sea, to be ruled by House Seaworth from Dragonstone. No longer as part of the Crownlands, as a true Great House. Your vassal lords shall consist of Celtigar, Velaryon, Massey, Sunglass, Rambston and Bar Emmon."

He didn't know what to say.


	57. Chapter 57: Tyrion III

_NOTE - Second one today. Good job I'm off isn't it? Enjoy!  
_

_Tyrion_

He still hated sailing. It had taken three days before his endless vomiting had slackened off and even now, over a week into the voyage, he still had to make unpredictable dashes to the ship's side rail. This would have been humiliating enough if it weren't that he had to climb on top of one of the cargo crates to reach over the rail.

Part of him was wracked by guilt for what he had done. Not for betraying his father, who had always hated him. Nor for effectively handing over Cersei and her children to Stannis, as it was no less than she and Joffrey deserved and, stoic and uncompromising as he was, Stannis wouldn't kill the innocent Tommen or Myrcella. No, he felt guilty because he had left Sansa, whom he had promised his uncle he would protect, in the hands of the Dornish to marry off at their will, and with Littlefinger hovering menacingly in the background, it wouldn't take them long.

This initial guilt had been beaten down by endless drinking and vomiting. The sea was no place for a dwarf, but he knew it was necessary. He would return to Westeros and show his father that his drunken lecher son was him writ small. He was going to the Targaryen boy and his army with pleasure, so he could return and show his father, and kill his sister.

Though he still had not been told where they were headed, he was in good company. Only two men knew where the ship was making for, one being the captain and the other Prince Oberyn. The Red Viper had joined Tyrion for three reasons, to determine if Aegon was truly his nephew, to advise him on the plans made by Prince Doran and to assist him in his conquest. Beyond this, Tyrion knew nothing.

He looked across the deck and saw a man watching him. Bald, thin and of average height, he looked unremarkable, yet something about him made the hair on his neck stand on end. As soon as the man noticed he was being observed, he bowed his head and returned to work, his parted lips revealing six yellowed teeth. Dismissing the man's unwholesome attention as nothing other than seeing a dwarf for the first time, Tyrion went below into the cabin he shared with Prince Oberyn.

The Dornishman sat on his bunk and gestured for Tyrion to sit opposite him.

"Sit Imp, it is time I told you a few things."

Tyrion had got used to doing what Oberyn said, and having sat down, he waited for the Prince to continue.

"Our destination is close Lannister, and though it pains me to bring one of your blood to meet my nephew, my brother is right. You have much to offer Aegon, and the Golden Company."

"Do I? A drunk dwarf is worth little outside a mummer's show."

"You know things Imp. You are known to have read every book on dragonlore in Westeros, you know the Westerlands and where it's people's loyalties and it's weaknesses lie, you have your name and you have gold, lots of gold."

"There it is, the one reason all the world loves a Lannister."

"The reason all the world hates a Lannister."

"It cuts both ways."

"Indeed. You will be made Lord of Casterly Rock when Aegon sits the Iron Throne. If, and only if, you agree to contribute to the Golden Company's fees with the gold of your family. I remind you that if you do not agree, you will not make it to our destination."

"I agree." What other choice did he have?

"We are headed to Volantis, where we shall meet two men who have already and shall continue to prove equally helpful in our efforts."

"Who?"

"You shall find out Imp."

"Seven hells Oberyn! First you cut my wine supply and now you play games with me! Tell me!"

"You shall know when you need to. Not before. I may have agreed to bring you with me, but I do not trust you Lannister." He spat the word as if it poisoned him.

Tyrion decided to change tack, "And where to from Volantis?"

"We shall join Aegon as he prepares to entreat the Golden Company. Then, as I ride to bring the company I founded, The Longspears, you and one of our Volantene friends shall join the King as he rides to gain the support of the Golden Company."

"Surely if I am to ride with these men, I should know a little about them."

"You already do, Lannister. You just don't know it yet."

* * *

Tyrion Lannister and Oberyn Martell stood at the ship's prow and watched the dark outline of Old Volantis draw closer in the half-light. The sun had gone down, so the Triarchs would have closed the harbour for the night by now.

"We'll dock tomorrow as soon as we can enter." Prince Oberyn said, "And then the real work begins."

"Well, I'm only a little person, so I'm sure I need my sleep. Try not to wake me as you come in." Tyrion waddled below decks and made for the cabin.

He heard something behind him, he was sure he did. Turning, he saw the man who had been watching him. The sailor was hunched over, leaning heavily on a makeshift mop made from a broken oar and some rags. Glancing at Tyrion he smiled, and a wave of his foul breath hit him like a brick wall. Gagging, Tyrion turned away and continued to his cabin.

He lay in his bunk, unable to shake the nagging feeling that he was missing something. He rolled over and started. The man was there. His foul, rotten breath hit Tyrion right in the face.

"Tyrion Lannister."

"Gods. Who are you?" He leapt up and threw himself against the ship's hull.

"There is only one god, and this man is his servant." His smile grew wider as he pulled a wicked, barbed knife from his belt.

"I know that accent. I know what you are. A Faceless man."

"This man is a servant. Valar Dohearis."

"All men must serve."

"A dwarf is right. Now a dwarf shall die." He raised the knife, then froze.

The dart had hit him high in the neck. As he fell to the ground convulsing, Prince Oberyn Martell entered the room, a thin blowpipe in hand.

"A Lorathi Faceless Man. He's been aboard since the Planky Town."

"You knew? Why did you not tell me there was a highly trained assassin on board who wanted to kill me? And how do we know for sure that's what he is?"

"You talk too much Imp, look." The Prince pointed at the body. His face had changed. Now, a man who looked to be in his thirties, with long copper and white hair lay before them, a perfect, full set of teeth visible in his slightly ajar mouth.

Tyrion turned back to Oberyn. "How did you know?"

"I travelled in Essos for many years. During that time I made friends across the Free Cities, from Volantene Triarchs, the current Braavosi Sealord, Qohorik hunters, Myrish silk merchants, Lysene whoremasters, Ibbenese whalers, Norvoshi War Priests _and _the new Guildmaster of the Faceless Men."

"And...the relevance of that is?"

"He was my good friend, and knew of our plans. He alerted me of this man's presence. He has been acting beyond his remit since his arrest in the Red Keep over a year ago, but they have managed to keep tracking him. The Faceless Men do not allow their agents to live long once they are renegade, they bring great danger on the House of Black and White. It is likely that he knew he would die, and was trying to kill those who he believed would please the Many-Faced God before his masters found him."

"Who is he?"

"No-one."

* * *

They went ashore just after dawn, and Tyrion followed Oberyn through the darkened streets. The Prince prowled as he walked, more a shadowcat than a viper. They crossed the Long Bridge as the sun rose. Tyrion was awed by the sheer breadth of the Rhoyne, but not as amazed as by the huge white elephant that passed them. Oberyn led the small party to the door of a large villa, on the door of which was painted a crying elephant.

The Viper ran his hand along the daubing, "This is one of the properties of Triarch Nyessos Vhassar of the elephants, the tears symbolise how he made his fortune."

"Pleasure slaves." Tyrion knew the Tears of Lys better than most.

"The same. But luckily for us, the Triarch is elsewhere. Our hosts are much less subtle than the Crying Elephant."

An Unsullied warrior opened the door, and upon seeing Prince Oberyn, stepped aside and allowed them in. The eunuch was fat, and Tyrion doubted he had ever swung the blade which rested on his hip in battle.

"Men like that make up Daenerys' army? Forgive me if I am a little unimpressed."

"There are Unsullied and then there are Unsullied, Imp. Too much peace and comfort and they tend to fat, like all eunuchs." They had been escorted to a comfortable chamber containing four chairs. Tyrion lifted himself into one as he replied,

"The only eunuch I have ever had the pleasure of meeting was our own Varys. Come to think of it, he seemed to know a lot, we could do with him on this."

A high tittering voice responded, "How lucky you are then, my lord of Lannister, that you think of me so fondly." Lord Varys stepped out from behind a pillar, behind him a hooded knight.

Tyrion managed not to look surprised, "Ah the Spider, and his armoured companion. Good to see you again my perfumed friend."

"I wish I could say the same to you, Imp." he replied as he washed his hands in a conveniently placed bowl of water, "But sadly, I am not the best liar in the world. Enough idle prattle though, we have much to discuss." He sat, though the knight remained standing.

"Dorne has done it's part thus far Spider," Oberyn began, "Cersei and her children are shipped off to Stannis. Sansa Stark is ready to wed Willas Tyrell and our armies await Aegon's arrival."

"Excellent, is Arianne ready to do her duty?"

"She will. She doesn't know yet, but she will do it."

"And Quentyn?"

"Has already met his betrothed and is currently riding with her and Lord Willas to Sunspear."

"Then our alliance is as secure as it will get, apart from one marriage yet to be confirmed. Which is where my friend comes in useful," he turned to the knight, "You can reveal yourself now my friend."

Ser Loras Tyrell lowered his hood and managed a weak smile, "My lords."

Prince Oberyn did not look impressed, "And what purpose can be served by this man who lay with man?"

Loras flushed and his retort was immediate, "So do you, Viper."

"I do not deny it, but I ensure that I am not the mockery of the realm."

"Enough." Varys interrupted before the confrontation escalated. "Ser Loras will marry Daenerys, no matter his sexuality, and our alliances will be secure."

Tyrion had had enough of this, "What part do I play in this?"

"You will secure the West. By the time Aegon sits the Iron Throne, you will be the only Lannister left, and the Westerlands need a Lannister."

"So I am to act in the interests of a child whom the entire world believes my father had murdered as a babe?"

"Exactly, and to ensure that you do, you will ride with myself and the Prince to a ruined village to the north, on the bank of the Rhoyne. There we shall meet Aegon and, once our Dornish friend is satisfied that the lad is his trueblood nephew, he will leave us to bring the Longspears to his side. Meanwhile you and I shall ride with Aegon to collect the Golden Company. At the same time, Ser Loras makes for Daenerys' army, the most handsome man in Westeros, for the most beautiful woman in the world."

"Well then. What are we waiting for?"


	58. Chapter 58: Andrew II

_NOTE - Here's the next one. Stuff gets really serious in this one. Extra credit to those who spot the HBO series reference.  
_

_Andrew  
_

The ride hadn't been easy. He had pushed the lad hard from Pentos all the way to Volantis, and to his credit, Edric had not once asked for a break or a reprieve. Over the course of the ride, as he had threatened, Andrew had made the boy train every night. Every night Edric gave it his best, and every night he went to bed covered in growing bruises. Yet, the number of new bruises was getting smaller, and he was getting stronger and faster. The lad also appeared to have inherited his father's impressive strength, as his blows appeared to have successfully raised a couple of bruises on Andrew.

They had, surprisingly, encountered no trouble on the road, except having to sneak around the immense camp of the Golden Company under cover of darkness on one night as they approached the city. But now they had reached the gates, and joined the column of traffic heading along the road.

As they reached the gate, a guard stepped forward, green tiger stripes tattooed on his cheeks and steel claws on his gauntlets.

"Who are you?"

"Ser Andrew Estermont, this is my son Eldon." Edric had agreed to using an Estermont name and posing as his son.

"What is your business in Volantis?"

Andrew took a deep breath and used the name Illyrio had told him to use, "We are here to see Triarch Nyessos, of the Elephants."

The guard frowned and growled, "And what would a Westerosi knight and his son want with a Triarch?"

"We come with a proposal from King Stannis Baratheon, for trade between Westeros and Old Volantis."

"Very well then, you may pass. Though for the sake of your King, the elections will be soon, best make plans with the other hopefuls should Nyessos be defeated."

"My thanks." The guard stepped aside and waved them through.

* * *

They came to the manse of the Crying Elephant by midday, and it seemed that they were expected, for a fat Unsullied guardsman admitted them as soon as he gave their names. They were led to a chamber with four chairs, in two of which they sat. Then a bald man walked in, behind him a strange trio, a hooded knight, a dwarf and a Dornishman. Andrew recognised all but the knight.

"Varys, the Viper and the Imp. I admit I did not expect you to be the ones Illyrio told us to meet here."

The eunuch tittered, "Yes noble ser, but we expected you. Illyrio's news travels fast."

Prince Oberyn waded in, "You seek Daenerys Targaryen. Why?"

"I would see her on the Iron Throne."

Oberyn drew a thin blade, "The truth. Now."

"Very well. We seek Daenerys not for gold, not for glory, nor for any of the reasons you might expect. We want to see dragons."

Varys turned to Edric, "So you do not object to be taken to the Queen, Edric?"

"No. I want to see the dragons."

The eunuch appeared to be conferring with the others as he continued, "Daenerys could use another knight at her side, in addition to our friend here," he gestured lightly to the hooded knight, who still remained silent.

"The more Westerosi she has around her, the more likely it is that she will be accepted by the people as one of their own, rather than a foreign oppressor." The Imp spoke sense.

"I don't like it," said Oberyn, "This man is Stannis' kin, and the lad is the Usurper's bastard son. Why should we let them go to our Queen? Kill them now I say, and be done."

Then the knight spoke, "I would appreciate the company on the road. And a Stormlander knight will show the world that even the extreme Baratheon loyalists can support the Targaryens."

"And if he should prove false?" The Viper asked.

"Then I shall kill him."

Varys clapped his powdered hands together. "It is settled then. When Tyrion, Oberyn and I leave for the Golden Company, the three of you shall make for Meereen, which Daenerys currently besieges. She appears to have become obsessed with ending slavery, you will stop this folly and bring her to join Aegon and the Golden Company."

Andrew cut him off, "If we are to ride with this man, I would know who he is."

Another titter, "Very well. Ser Andrew, you shall have the pleasure of the company of none other than the most famed knight in Westeros, and Daenerys' soon-to-be husband, Ser Loras Tyrell."

Ser Loras lowered his hood, "It is a pleasure, I'm sure. I apologise for the secrecy, but Varys is ever one for the dramatic entrance."

"There is no harm in that my friend. Now to business, you shall need passage to Meereen, but as the slave trade crumbles, Volantis gears for war. It shall be difficult to find passage, and over land will take too long."

"Then how do we reach her?"

"There is only one who might give you passage by sea. You must seek out an old colleague of mine. Go to Vogarro's warehouse district, and ask for the Widow. Tell her you came from the Spider. As much as I hate that name, it has it's uses."

* * *

As the three of them made their way to the waterfront through the market district, Edric began to question Loras on life since his time at Storm's End. Andrew let him go on and on, until he hit one potential sore spot.

"Why are you marrying Daenerys? I thought that you and Renly were.."

"Enough Edric! Leave it."

The Kinght of Flowers smiled, "It's quite alright. You see Edric, what you thought about King Renly and myself was true, but now he is dead. I loved him, and I love him still, yet my family have decided that, as he is now dead, we had better choose a side, and that means marriage, for me anyway."

"But you don't like women." The lads innocence was making this conversation very awkward.

"No, I don't. But my family and the rest of the world don't care about that. Men marry women to make alliances, that is the way of it. Love has nothing to do with it, unless you are very lucky."

"Why can't men marry men?"

"Because the world believes it wrong."

"That's stupid."

They came to Vogarro's great warehouse, and were led inside by a beautiful woman bearing the Tears of Lys on her cheek. There, they joined the queue of petitioners. After almost an hour, they found themselves before a reclining elderly woman on a lavish couch, surrounded by six more pleasure girls.

"What is the business of two knights and a squire with the Widow of the Waterfront?" A guard questioned them, presumably so the lady needn't wear out her voice talking to them.

Ser Andrew cleared his throat, looked directly at her and spoke, "We come from the Spider."

A look of recognition flashed across the old woman's black eyes, and was gone. "Clear the room."

Once the grumbling petitioners had gone, she stood and approached them. "What does the Spider want from this old woman?"

"A ship to Meereen, to carry the three of us. Nothing more."

"And what would you seek in Meereen?"

"Trade agreements between Westeros and Slaver's Bay, on behalf of King Stannis Baratheon."

"Do you think I am stupid, ser knight? I know who besieges Meereen. Daenerys Targaryen, Mother of Dragons, Breaker of Chains. It is her you seek. Why?"

"That matters not."

"No, I suppose not. But what does matter is this. She is ending slavery, everywhere we hear of this. Volantis prepares for war, all the potential Triarchs but Doniphos agree on this. I own many slaves, why should I help you help her?"

"Because you were once a slave yourself?"

"Indeed I was. Trained in the way of the Seven Sighs in Yunkai, until Vogarro bought me and fell for me. Hardly surprising really. I was good, I was very good. When my husband died, he left me all his enterprise. Yes I own slaves, but I was once one of them, and they do not forget that. Nor do the Old Blood, who look down on me from their vast palaces and their white elephants. Vogarro's whore, they call me." Her tone became secretive, "There is a small cog leaving for Qarth at dusk, yet Benerro has seen in his fires that it will not make it to it's destination. Be aboard it before it leaves, and take a message to Daenerys Stormborn form the slaves of Old Volantis. Tell her we are waiting, tell her to come soon."

* * *

They boarded the _Selaesori Qhoran_ just before it's captain set sail. The sea was calm, and yet the crew remained uneasy. They had all heard Benerro's prediction that they would not make it to Qarth. The situation was not eased by the presence of Moqorro, another red priest. He was a colossal man, over six feet tall and near as wide, with skin as black as pitch. He lit a fire on the deck every night and the crew came to his evening prayers. Only the three Westerosi did not attend the fires, though some of the crew did not take the process any further than attendance. The huge man had repeated Bennerro's prophecy, and proclaimed that they would arrive at Meereen, where the Saviour Queen Daenerys would bring her dragons to purge the world of Rhllor's foes.

Andrew dismissed this as religious bullshit, he had never been a god-fearing man. Yet, he feared that one part of this was right. For some reason he doubted their arrival in Meereen would be a pleasurable experience. He was lost in his thoughts when a cry came from the crow's nest.

"Captain! Ships ahead! She's not flying a flag!"

The captain cursed, "Slavers."

"Can we outrun them?" Andrew shouted to the captain.

"Not likely, but I'm damned if I'll let them take me alive." He drew a wicked looking scimitar, "And my crew will fight."

"Why? They're slaves already."

"Aye, but well treated slaves. They won't be if that lot get hold of them. I'm assuming you knights'll fight?"

Ser Loras drew his sword, "Of course."

* * *

It was almost dawn when the first of the three sleek slaver ships caught them. A swarm of the sea-vermin leapt over onto the deck of the _Qhoran. _They were a barbaric sight, some shaved bald, others with long shaggy hair, some bearded, some with sharpened teeth. But it mattered not, if any one of them stood before him he died.

Andrew was good with a sword, the best of his kin, but he was amazed watching Loras at work. The man made killing an art form. Not a single one of the slavers lasted more than two swings against him. As Andrew cut down another enemy, Edric crossed his sight. The lad was doing well, especially for his first action.

Despite the best efforts of the Westerosi and the crew, they were being pushed back. The captain and two of the mates were dead, the crew were wavering. Loras, Andrew and to some extent Edric, were the only serious opposition the slavers now faced, yet even they began to tire. Andrew's sword became heavy in his hand, and he realised that only himself, Loras and five of the sailors still stood. Edric was now sitting behind the thin cordon they had made around him, unconscious due to a blow to the head. Andrew had dragged him behind them as they pulled back. All seemed lost. Then came a roar from the aft cabin.

Moqorro's gigantic frame emerged from the cabin, seeming even larger than before, a huge sword in one hand, the other hand raised to the sky. He spoke in what Andrew presumed was High Valyrian and a ball of fire grew in his hand. The priest threw it amongst the slavers, who began to panic. Then flames lanced up Moqorro's blade and he barrelled into combat, his only armour a huge bronze plate of his enormous boulder of a stomach. Andrew had heard of Thoros of Myr and his flaming blade, but had never seen it with his own eyes. The attack of the red priest fired him, he knew not why, but he found that he was once again diving towards the slavers, as if reinvigorated by the heat. The slavers broke then, when Moqorro cut down one of their leaders and Ser Loras the other. The fell back to their ships and left the remainder of the _Qhoran's _crew in peace.

The red priest quenched his flames, and seemed to shrink back to his normal size.

"Thank you, priest." Andrew managed to say.

"Do not thank me. Thank the Lord of Light, for he has seen fit to let us live another day. Why are you here Westerosi?"

"We must reach Daenerys Targaryen. What about you?"

"I too seek the Mother of Dragons. I am sent by Benerro, the High Priest of Rhllor, to aid the Saviour Queen in her battles against the Great Other."

"The Great what?"

"The Great Other, the master of darkness and ice. He who wakes the dead and marches on the realms of men."

"Why do you seek her?"

"To help her. The Great Other can be stopped only by the weapons of Rhllor, fire and light. And she has dragons, fire made flesh. Dragons that are needed for the war to come."

"The war for the Iron Throne?"

"You think the petty wars of man are important? How naive you are ser. No, she must fight the only war that matters. The war that will bring the Endless Night, the war for mankind's very existence, the war that we must win, the war between the darkness and the light, between ice and fire."


	59. Chapter 59: Brynden IV

_NOTE - Not much to say about this one, other than it's another chance for us to enjoy some Frey-bashing. I hope you like it.  
_

_Brynden_

After Riverrun's liberation from the remaining Freys by Robb's army, he had slept. For a long time. He had actually woken up four days after he had fallen asleep, which was something he struggled to comprehend. Yet, when he did awaken, he felt better than he had done for years. Not because his body was healed, though it was much better. It was because, for the first time in his life, he had put his ghosts to rest. Bethany, Tansy and Hoster would haunt him no more.

The plans had been made swiftly upon his waking. The Freys currently held only The Twins, but their forces besieged both Seagard and Moat Cailin. Robb would lead most of the host to The Twins, take it, and cut Ser Ryman's head off. In the meantime, Brynden would lead a smaller force to relieve Seagard, with Lord Jason Mallister as his second. The news from Seagard, the only west coast port of the Riverlands, was not good. In addition to Black Walder's troops, there were rumours of the Iron Fleet sailing up past the Crag and making for the Cape of Eagles. He would have wished for more men, but unfortunately there were none to be had.

* * *

The march was not long or troublesome, but as they rode he saw the effects of the fighting. Much of the once fertile farmland was blackened and barren. The work of The Mountain, thank the gods he was dead. Slain by his own brother The Hound. He had briefly seen Sandor Clegane when he departed Riverrun. The big man had refused the offered knighthood, with more expletives than necessary, and announced his intention to return to the Westerlands, and serve the Lannisters again. He was now the master of Clegane's Keep after all. To his credit, Lord Edmure had let him go, with far more grace than Brynden would have been able to muster.

Then there had been talk of the future. Lord Stevron Frey had finally come to his senses about his relatives, and agreed that all of his relatives who had taken part in his son Ryman's treachery would be given the King's Justice. Though it seemed barbaric at first, that a man would condemn his sons and other kin to death with so little regret, Brynden knew it was what needed to be done. However, Stevron was no fool, he had demanded concessions. If he was to lose so many of his kin, including his three heirs, he wanted assurance that House Frey would be accepted back into the Riverlands fold. Naturally, being a Frey, he had demanded a marriage. His original offer had been of his hand for none other than Lady Catelyn herself, but both she and her entire family, both Tully and Stark, had flatly refused. The compromise offer had been Edmure's idea. That he, the Lord of Riverrun, would marry Roslin Frey, previously betrothed to Robb Stark.

Brynden had thought this a mistake, that a rebellious house be granted so important a marriage but Edmure, in his folly, had been insistent. So, once The Twins had been reclaimed and the Stark forces moved on to deal with the Boltons, Edmure would marry Roslin and continue the Tully line. Brynden Blackfish was in no position to criticise Edmure's lack of children up to this point, but there was one key difference; Edmure was the Lord of Riverrun, Brynden was not. The Riverlands, as proved by this war, was the battle-ground of any Westerosi conflict. Sharing borders with the North, the Vale, the Crownlands, the Westerlands and the Reach, the region formed the central theatre of most wars; a situation compounded by the fact that any army wanting to reach either the North or the Vale by land must pass through the lands of House Tully. In such a potentially dangerous environment, it was no wonder that the smallfolk population was comparatively low, leading to the riverlords' smaller armies. That was why the Tully's had always placed such great emphasis on marrying into powerful houses. Lord Grover Tully had wed a Royce, Lord Elmo a Hightower, while Lord Kermit Tully had successfully managed to wed his daughter to a member of a lesser branch of House Targaryen.

Yet, the suffering of the smallfolk had been brought about not by lack of marriage, but by sheer greed on the part of the Lannisters, the Baratheons, ad to some extent the Starks. Brynden made a mental note to see to it that the people got help once the Freys were defeated. There may yet be time for one more harvest before the weather became too cold. But then, as Catelyn and her son had become so keen on reminding him, winter was coming.

* * *

When they crested the hill and looked down on the walls of Seagard, a scene of utter chaos met them. The Mallister eagle still flew over the keep and the great bell rang from the Booming Tower. Yet the town itself was in a much worse situation. The landward side was a sea of Frey banners, while the port was filled with the ships of the Iron Fleet.

"Ser Patrek!"

The Mallister knight ride up to him, "Yes my lord?"

"Form up the men. And don't call me lord."

"Sorry ser. We're going into that mess? Surely it would be better to wait until one has defeated the other, so we only have to fight one exhausted enemy?"

"No, we'll take advantage of the confusion. See there?" He pointed, "The Frey ladders are at the walls of your keep. If we wait, they will get in there and slaughter your kin. Is that what you want?"

"Of course not!"

"Then form up the men!"

"At once ser."

Brynden led them in, Lord Jason at his side. Their troops rushed into the town down three streets. They collided with the Frey rear line almost unnoticed. His sword came down on the helm of a knight wearing the sigil of House Haigh. The man's body convulsed and collapsed. He pushed his charger onwards, Lord Jason right beside him. The two of them had fought side-by-side on the Trident, and here they were again, at least the Frey's had deigned to turn up for the battle this time, he grinned.

They pushed on, and on, driving the enemy before them, until Freys mingled with Greyjoys, and the sea came into sight. Then they saw him, a huge man with a kraken helm upon his head, a wicked axe in one hand, a fine sword in the other. Full steel plate encased the man as he clashed with a wiry, stout man with black hair. Brynden watched Victarion Greyjoy and Black Walder clash, knowing he would have to fight the survivor. Then, the pair were charged by a light grey warhorse, upon which sat Lord Jason Mallister. The Lord's white beard and aquiline nose were obvious as he had lost his helmet. The charge knocked Black Walder to the ground, and he promptly rolled away, Brynden losing him in the pressing melee.

He pushed further, cutting down any who stood in his way, striving to reach Jason, who was now circling his horse around Greyjoy, raining blows down upon him, but none could pierce his armour. Then he saw it out of the corner of his eye, moving just fast enough to avoid Black Walder's blade. As he turned he saw the knight raise his sword to strike again. As they traded blows, Walder taunted him.

"You're getting old Blackfish."

"Your uncle Hosteen said the same, before a he let a little girl kill him."

"No matter, he was always arrogant. Just means that I shall face less opposition to my claim once my fool of a grandfather, my fat father and idiot brother are out of the way."

"Not if I kill you first."

"Don't worry, old man, you won't."

As he said this, Walder unleashed a string of attacks, each more wild than the last, pushing Brynden back, until he left his side open. Brynden threw himself forward, slamming his head into Walder's nose, hearing the sharp crack as the cartilage broke upon the helmet steel. As his opponent fell, he leveled his sword at his throat and smiled.

"Looks like I have. Such a shame you'll never get that castle you wanted." With that, he pushed the blade downwards.

As Walder's blood spurted from the wound, he searched for the Iron Captain. But the Freys were giving up, and the Greyjoys pulling back to their ships. He finally found Lord Jason lying among the bodies, his horse on top of him. He was dying.

"My lord Blackfish. I am sorry. He escaped."

"What happened?"

"He shoved his blade into my horse's chest, and axed me as she fell on top of me. I know I'm dying Brynden. Where is my son? Where is Patrek?"

A man in Mallister colours came forward, "My lord, Patrek is dead. Ser Symond and Merrett Frey ambushed his men in the marketplace."

The old man's face fell, "My only son. Kill those bastards, Brynden. Promise me you'll avenge my boy."

"They will die."

"Good...Now I can rest. Look after my people Brynden, my old friend, until my granddaughter...until she comes of age...promise me." Lord Jason's eyes closed, and his final breath became a harsh rattle.

"I promise." When this war was won he would do as his old friend had requested. He would come back to Seagard, he would rule until Patrek's daughter Elinor was old enough. He had never wanted to rule, but he would not refuse his old friend that. But all that would come later, now he would ride for The Twins, leaving most of his men here to defend it against anymore Ironborn attacks. Black Walder was dead, Hosteen was dead, Merrett and Symond would soon be dead, but the others still lived. And he would see them dead.

All of them.


	60. Chapter 60: Arya IV

_NOTE - This is a long one, and one I particularly enjoyed writing, I hope you enjoy reading it.  
_

_Arya_

They'd left Riverrun with all the force of the North, some of the Riverlords and the remainder of the Brotherhood. Some of them had chosen to go home, but when Thoros announced that he would go north and then on to the Wall, those of the Brotherhood who had taken his faith swore to follow him. The two of them joining the Northerners who didn't follow Rhllor; Gendry and Harwin, had sworn their swords to Lord Stark.

So they had ridden to The Twins. They had been outside the castle for two days now. The largest host was on the west bank of the river, while a smaller force under the Greatjon had ridden ahead and invested the castle on the east bank. Two incredibly boring days in which Ser Ryman had been too stupid to surrender.

Her mother had called her into the command tent to hear her brother's announcement.

"I have spoken to Lord Harrion Karstark, and he has agreed that, once this war is over and the North is freed from the Boltons, I shall marry his sister Alys, and return House Karstark to the King's Peace."

The army commanders had cheered, as had she, until her brother turned to her.

"It is also to be announced that my sister Arya is not wed, but is approaching marriageable age. My mother and I shall begin looking for a suitable husband for her shortly, if any of you have sons you wish to be considered, do not hesitate to let us know."

"What in seven hells Robb? What gives you the right to set me up? I'm not for sale like some prize cow!" She screamed at him, not caring that all the lords were watching, not caring that her mother was glaring at her. How could he? She'd only been back with him two days, and he was already trying to sell her like a brood mare. How dare he? She turned and ran out of the tent. She didn't stop. She climbed a tree and sat on the thickest branch. She was determined not to come down. Her mother came and shouted at her to come down and apologise to Robb and the other lords for her rudeness. She didn't. Her brother came and apologised for not mentioning the plan to her first. She didn't come down. Did he not seen that that wasn't the point? She wasn't coming down. In the end, guards were posted at the base of her tree for the night and she was left to stew.

It went dark quickly. Arya couldn't get comfortable on her branch, the bark digging in through her thin clothes. She could hear the guards at the base of the tree bickering.

"Why are we out here? The lads are over there, warm by a fire, and we're out here freezing our cocks off."

"It is getting colder. Look will you stop moaning? His lordship wants us here to watch his sister."

"It's too fucking dark to see her, how do we know she's even still up there?"

"Well she's not come down has she, you fuckwit."

She listened to them for a while, and gradually felt herself drifting off. She was running, running with her pack, her smaller kin around her. The man-camp was over the hill, beyond the big oak tree. They would go there, they would taste man-flesh, they would kill. She threw back her head and howled and her cousins joined her.

Arya sat bolt upright, losing her balance as she did so and falling from her branch. She hit the ground with a dull thud. She stood up and dusted herself off, just in time to see the two guards running back to the camp, screaming. She felt the hot breath on the back of her neck. Turning, she came face to face with a huge wolf. It stared at her, huge eyes wide. Dimly, Arya became aware of more wolves, only smaller, moving to surround her. She knew she aught to run, she knew she aught to, but she couldn't. There was something about this wolf, something familiar.

"Nymeria?" she asked, putting out her hand. The wolf sniffed at it, then licked it. Then Arya knew it was her. She grabbed the wolf and held her close, "I'm so sorry Nymeria. I had to. They would have killed you. I'm so sorry."

Then came the sound of horses, and of men shouting. She looked down at the camp and saw men rushing about, the troops readying. They would ride up and kill the wolves, she knew they would. No doubt her brother would unknowingly lead the way.

"Nymeria, come with me. Come down there." She began to walk, but the direwolf didn't move. "Nymeria please. They'll kill you." But she wouldn't move. Arya knew she had to do something, and right now she could only think of one thing. She ran down the slope towards the party of horsemen approaching. As they drew closer she could see Grey Wind running alongside Robb's horse. She stood directly in their path.

"Arya! What are you doing?" Her brother shouted at her, "They'll kill our horses and our cattle. We need them for food, we must chase them off."

"No. Nymeria's up there."

"Nymeria is gone Arya."

"No she's not! She's leading the wolves."

One of the riders with a Glover tabard scoffed, "Leading them? Like a commander? You've been in the wild too long girl."

Then the howl came again. Grey Wind through back his head and replied. The woods resounded with the calls of a thousand wolves, and Nymeria stalked out and came to sit next to Arya.

She turned to the Glover rider, "Do you believe me now? Robb, she's not gone, this is Nymeria."

Grey Wind came forward tentatively, he was larger, but Nymeria looked more dangerous, even if it was purely the scratches and scars of a hundred battles and raids. The two of them sniffed each other, before rolling around on the floor together, play-biting and nipping.

Arya felt Nymeria's joy. _Pack-brother. __Lost brother. _She felt the relief and the excitement, and the love. She looked at Robb, and knew he was feeling the same thing. They watched the two direwolves wrestle until the Glover man spoke up.

"My lord? Are we going to drive them off?"

Robb turned to him, "No I think not. Go back to the camp, Arya and I will follow."

"My lord, I don't think it wise to.."

"Go."

Without another word, they wheeled their horses and rode back down the hill. She stood there watching Nymeria and Grey Wind until she heard Robb's voice.

"Arya, come here."

"No." She would not forgive him, she would not. "You wanted to sell me off for your own gains. You sold me to the Frey boy, and now you want to sell me again."

"I know what I did wrong Arya. I never gave you a chance to even tell me your side of things did I? I have been at war a long time Arya. I got so carried away trying to make your return into a military advantage, I forgot the most important thing, my sister is home. With you gone, Rickon in the capital, Jon at the Wall, mother a captive, Sansa taken by Joffrey, and Bran...Gods know what's happened to Bran. I've been on my own, there has only been the war. Nothing else."

"You want me to forgive you because you were trying to turn me into an advantage?"

"No. I want you to forgive me because I am truly sorry, and I promise, I shall never make you marry against your will."

"But, what about mother?"

"I am the Lord of Winterfell, not mother. I tell you, if you want to go and live with the wolves, I will not stop you. If you want me to find you a nice southern lord -" he stopped when she hit him. "You know that doesn't hurt, don't you? Anyway, the point is, I will let you choose."

"Can I be the master of a castle?"

"I'm sure I could find a small one."

She hugged him then, and held him close. Her brother, whom she had thought she would never see again. Then a thought occurred to her,

"Robb?"

"Yes, Arya?"

"Could you feel it too?"

"Feel what?"

"With the direwolves."

"Yes. I have dreamed of running out there, hunting and feasting, tasted the blood in my mouth."

"I have too! What does it mean?"

"I don't know, but it worries me."

* * *

She woke up the next morning in her tent, Nymeria curled up beside her, with no memory of getting there. Even curled up, the wolf took up the vast majority of the bed, leaving Arya balanced precariously on the edge.

"About time you woke up." A deep voice came from the chair in the corner, "Your brother has told your mother about what he's promised, and they're still shouting at each other, you can hear them from here if you listen."

"Uncle Brynden! I thought you were at Seagard."

"I was, my girl, but after beating the Freys into the dust and throwing the Ironborn into the sea, I decided I wanted to see the look on Ryman Frey's face when we march in and take his castle."

"What happened?" He told her of his attack on Seagard, of his duel with Black Walder, the deaths of both Lord Jason and Patrek Mallister, and the escape of the Greyjoys.

"But enough of that for now. Let's go and see your brother, he needs to know what happened."

They walked through the camp, Nymeria following. The men viewed her with suspicion, and some shouted curses. One man threw a rock, and the wolf yelped as it struck her.

"Who threw that?" Brynden rounded on the men, "Come on, who was it?"

An ugly man with a smug grin stepped forward, "Me, my lord."

Her uncle slammed his fist into the man's gut, "You idiot. That direwolf is one of our best weapons, you want to damage it? Do you?"

Wheezing, the man shook his head.

"Good." Her uncle raised his voice, "Any man who harms this wolf will be dealt with as if he had hurt Lord Stark's wolf. Is that clear? Excellent." He beckoned to Arya and they moved on. As they walked, he spoke to her.

"How goes your sword training?"

"My mother took Needle. She said it's not lady-like to wear trousers and have a sword."

"What utter bollocks. Listen, if you want to learn to fight stay behind after this meeting with me."

She had no idea what her uncle was planning, but she nodded and carried on walking.

When they came to the command tent, the Blackfish was proved right, her mother and Robb were still arguing. Many of the leading lords and knights of the army stood uncomfortably outside. When they pushed inside, Lady Catelyn turned.

"Isn't this ridiculous uncle? He won't find a match for Arya."

"I'd say that's a bloody good idea."

"But he's announced it now, the lords will not like it."

"Then they'll bloody put up and shut up. There are much graver insults to be made."

"She must be married soon or.."

"Leave it Cat."

Lady Catelyn Stark turned and left without another word.

"Thank you uncle." Robb said, "Now I must call my commanders in."

"Before you do, I have a request to make of you."

"Anything."

"I wish to take Arya as my squire." _He didn't say that, you misheard him Arya, you got too hopeful. Of course he didn't say that._

"A squire? But she's a girl."

"Yes she is, and a damn good fighter. In addition, I want her with me when we break the Twins' gate tomorrow. Her and her wolf."

"Uncle Brynden, you must understand, you want me to put my sister in harm's way without any formal training. Imagine what mother would say."

She stepped forward, "Robb. You said last night that you were the Lord of Winterfell, not mother. You said you wouldn't stand in the way of what I wanted. This is what I want."

"She's got you there lad."

The Lord of Winterfell bowed his head, "Very well. Send in the lords."

Arya drifted in and out of the discussions on the planning of the attack. She didn't see why there had to be so much talking. She had thought it was just a case of marching up to the castle, knocking the gate down, going inside and killing everyone, but apparently not.

Her uncle was speakign when she came back to her senses, "the late Lord Mallister has given me command of his men. They are hungry for revenge for the deaths of both their lord and his heir, and I intend to give it to them."

"Very well, The Blackfish shall command the attack on the gate. A raven has been sent to Lord Umber that he is to begin his attack on the other bank as soon as we give the signal. Galbart Glover shall lead the ladder attack on the southern side of the gate, while Lord Bracken shall lead the attack on the northern side. Dismissed my lords."

* * *

They were arrayed just outside arrow range. She stood in the line with her uncle on one side, Nymeria and Grey Wind on the other. Robb had insisted on giving her having both direwolves to protect her, especially has he would not be taking part in this assault and would remain at the rear, coordinating the assaults on both banks. They stood, waiting for the command. Along the walls of The Twins, men were lined up ready to repel them. She had been in fights before, but never anything like this. This was a set-piece siege assault, and she had never been so scared. Not that she would admit that to anyone else though.

The horn sounded, and the men began to move forwards, shields held high. Arya, her uncle and the wolves ran behind the ram, under the great canopy the men had constructed to keep the arrows off. It was carried at the corners by eight huge men, and moved quite slowly, so the ram reached the gate well before they did.

The Blackfish was in his element, throwing himself forward and joining the ramming crew, "Come on lads, let show 'em the colour of their insides!"

Another man shouted, "For Lord Jason! Mallister! Mallister!"

Soon the chant became a roar, as all the men of Seagard took it up. The ram seemed to double the speed of it's strikes under the encouragement as the crew became more worked up.

When the gate buckled and broke, men came forward to pull the ram out of the way. As the way was cleared, she and the wolves moved to join Ser Brynden.

"This is your last chance to turn back Arya."

"Never." She drew Needle. Her mother had grudgingly returned it when Robb gave the order.

"Stick with me girl." He smiled.

They ran through the gate.

* * *

The blood ran slick in the courtyard of the Water Tower. The third castle of The Twins, in the centre of the bridge, where Ryman Frey had made his last stand. She had seen so many horrors.

Nymeria ripping the throat from a man she now knew was Jared Frey, driving Needle into the stomach of limping knight with the weasel-like look of Lord Walder, the one known as Lame Lothar. She had briefly seen Gendry, grappling with a knight she didn't recognise. Dozens of men cut down by arrows crossing the bridge to the Water Tower.

She had seen men die before, but somehow, this was different. Her uncle had been unstoppable. He had carved through the enemy with a rampant disreagrd for his own safety.

They had found Ser Ryman dead, his knife in his vast gut, in the High Seat of the Freys. Her brother had returned Lord Stevron Frey to the rule of his house, but it was a house in ruins. Most of the knights of House Frey were dead now, including all of Stevron's sons and grandsons. In addition to Ryman, the dead included Edwyn, Petyr, Perwyn, Wendel, Arwood, Danwell, Elmar, Aegon, Walton, Steffon, Bryen, Aenys, Rhaegar, Jonos and at least six Walders. In fact, Lord Stevron's eldest surviving relative was his brother Emmon, wed to Genna Lannister. Yet, he chose to adopt his half-brother Olyvar as his son, and named him the heir to the Twins, stating that Emmon 'sacrificed any and all claim to our ancestral seat when he sided with Tywin Lannister'.

Arya had been given a comfortable room in the East Bank Tower, which she shared with her mother.

"Where do we go now?"

Lady Catelyn turned to her, "North, to deal with the Boltons. But we'd better do it quickly. Winter is coming."


	61. Chapter 61: Roose II

_NOTE - Next three chapters are going to be updates on the happenings in the North as it's been a while since the last one.  
_

_Roose_

Winterfell had fallen. The North was his. Now he just had to keep it. He looked out from what had been Ned Stark's solar, and was now his, towards the courtyard, where the flayed bodies of Ser Rodrik Cassel and Mors Umber hung above the gate. They had fought valiantly, but stupidly. It was wiser to join the winning side rather than keep fighting out of so pointless a thing as loyalty. He thought back to how, after he had ridden into that same courtyard after the assault, the two men had been standing, backs against the outer wall, swords raised in defiance. He had ridden up to them and offered them their lives.

"Why should we kneel to you, Leech Lord?" Mors Umber had always been trunculent, but he had no idea how correct he was.

"Because you would like to live."

"Not if you're ruling we wouldn't." Ser Rodrik replied.

"Very well then. Kill them." He gestured to his captain, Steelshanks Walton.

"Get off your horse and fight me Bolton."

"I think not Umber. Kill them."

Ser Rodrik had not lasted long, an arrow in the neck saw to that, but Mors Umber fought like a demon. His greatsword ended the lives of eight of Roose's best before the giant was brought down. Roose dismounted and looked at the bodies.

"Give them to Ramsay."

His bastard son was nothing if not thorough, not a patch of skin was left on the bodies. Ramsay had mastered the techniques of flaying long ago, yet he would not rule the Dreadfort, not if he had anything to do with it. The bastard had his uses, but was unpredictable. His anger and cruelty fueled everything he did, and he had none of the diplomatic acumen that would be required if he were to rule the North. In addition, Lady Dustin held him to blame for the death of Roose's son Domeric, who was her beloved nephew. No, Ramsay would have to go, but only once he had served his usefulness. The bastard was an abomination, he had gloated to his father of what he had done to Lady Hornwood, how he had skinned a maid who displeased him, how he had given another to his dogs to kill. That was when Roose had known, Ramsay would drive his house to ruin. A peaceful land, a quiet people, that was his rule, but it would not be Ramsay's. His bastard son would die, for now he had a fat wife from a fertile family to give him more sons.

But for now he had other problems. The Karstarks were marching south from Last Hearth. Lord Arnolf, as Roose had made him, reported that they had been met by no resistance and that the Whoresbane had led the remaining few men of House Umber south to Winterfell. Unfortunately Roose knew this was not true, as the only Umber's present when he had attacked had been the remainder of Crowfood's men. This mean that there was, somewhere between Winterfell and Last Hearth, a column of men led by a master of guerrilla warfare. He would have to smoke Hother out if his rule were to be secure. Yet there were other problems too, the Ironborn still held Deepwood Motte, and had purportedly attacked Bear Island and Flint's Finger. Yet these paled in comparison to the real issue. Robb Stark was returning north. His original force of twenty-five thousand vastly reduced, both by the war and by the desertion of Roose and his allies, the Young Wolf could not have had more than ten thousand remaining, and Roose could muster a similar number. Stark would not bring southerners north, not this close to winter. If Roose could defeat him quickly, he would still have time to prepare for the change in season, and once winter set in no armies from the south would dare march north, not with the Neck frozen and the lords to busy looking after their own smallfolk. Yet the Northerners thrived in winter, they were the masters of survival. While the South grew weak and weary in the cold, the North would prepare itself. If he could secure his rule by autumn's end, he would be safe. He reached for the goblet and drank the red liquid. Many would call him barbaric he knew, many already did. But drinking the blood of his enemies made him stronger, made him feel alive. Everyone thought that flaying was the Bolton secret, but it was not. For thousands of years his family had not only flayed their enemies, but gained power from their blood. This was the mark of a true Bolton, the trait that neither Ramsay nor Domeric had inherited.

* * *

Arnolf Karstark had taken his offer without hesitation, as he had known he would. The man liked to think himself clever, but was a fool. When he arrived at Winterfell he was granted a private audience.

"My lord, it is most kind of you to accommodate me and mine inside the castle."

"I do only as a good host should." He had a role to play here, best to go along with it. "I was hoping you might be so good as to inform me of your journey?"

"Of course my lord," Karstark practically swooned over his own self-importance, "It is my pleasure to bring you the remaining forces of House Karstark."

"And they are most welcome my lord, though I gather you had some difficulty on the road?"

"Only a few bandit raids my lord, nothing to worry about really. They started on the Kingsroad, down form Last Hearth. We'd spent two days at the Castle, hosted surprisingly graciously by the Greatjon's daughter Lyarra. I was wondering if, once my lordship is confirmed, you might be so good as to arrange a marriage between her and my son Cregan?"

"All in good time Arnolf. But you were telling me of Last Hearth."

"Of course, my apologies my lord Bolton," he sputtered and fingered his beard, a scraggly disgusting and forked thing which did nothing to hide his weak chin and scrawny neck. "We left Last Hearth, with Lyarra Umber assuring us that her great-uncle Whoresbane and her two remaining brothers Harmond and Benjen had led what men they could to reinforce Winterfell."

"My Lord Karstark, the only Umber's here when I arrived were the remainder of Mors Crowfood's column. I believe the raiders you have been harassed by were Hother Umber and his relief column, hidden in the hills until you marched and then attacked you on the march and in your camp."

"That deceitful bitch lied to me."

"It would appear so my lord."

"Now what? I marched six hundred men here, with another thousand following, every last man Karhold could spare. I've staked a lot on this Roose."

"Now, we gather our forces and wait. Stark marches north towards the Twins. The Freys will hold him for long enough for us to secure ourselves. The Dustins, Ryswells and Hornwoods are behind us, not to mention those of smaller houses who will join us out of fear, Cerwyn, Tallhart and the like. I will send my bastard to the Dreadfort to gather more men tomorrow. What of your niece Alys?"

"She was troublesome. She believes that Karhold is hers, not mine, if Joffrey is our King and Harrion is denounced. She says that if that is the case, she chooses not to send men to fight for you."

"How did you deal with this?"

"Simply. I had her dragged here. She's in the Great Hall now, being kept company by your wife and Lady Dustin. No less sullen for that though. I told her she should be pleased, being wed to the heir to the North. Instead, she screamed of bastardy and his monstrous tendencies."

"Ramsay is an interesting man, but he is good at what he does."

"And what is that?"

"Killing, my lord Arnolf, killing."

* * *

He sent Ramsay out at dawn. The boy was a risk in the increasingly tense atmosphere of Winterfell. A column of Freys, sent north by Ser Ryman under three of his brothers was due to arrive in two days. It was a small column, but the presence of more 'traitors' in Winterfell would not calm the situation. Roose had met the Frey knights in question during his brief stay at the Twins. Ser Raymund was a slimy creature, much like his father, Ser Jammos was portly and amicable, if hot-tempered, and Ser Whalen was a drunk, not the men Roose would have hoped for, but he needed the five hundred men they brought with them.

They were now at breakfast, and once again he could hear Lady Dustin waxing lyrical about Ramsay. She hated him, this much he knew. She spoke of how he murdered Domeric, and he knew she was right. Roose had been proud of his son, but not surprised when Ramsay poisoned him. Domeric had been too trusting, more Ryswell than Bolton, not fit to rule the Dreadfort, nor was Ramsay. He would have another son by Walda and make him worthy.

Roose had now met his soon to be daughter-in-law, and he had to say, he was impressed. If he wasn't already married, he would have wed her himself. A beautiful woman she was, but not for long after Ramsay had her he bastard had a tendency to get bored, and when that happened, he livened things up. With blood. Alys Karstark's life was going to be very miserable, but Roose did not care. She would serve her purpose.

He was snapped from his reverie by Walton, "My lord, we've uncovered the crypt entrance."

"Good." He rose immediately, and was followed by Barbrey Dustin, at whose request he had set his men to clear the crypts. The two of them descended, he politely offering her his arm. Once down, he held aloft a torch as she walked down to the statue of Brandon Stark, Lord Eddard's brother. He himself stopped at the statue of Eddard. The work must have only just been completed when his forces arrived. He looked at the grim, stone face and said,

"I rule your home Stark. Does that pain you beyond your grave? Your boy is coming to try and take it off me, but he will die, but not before I flay him."

Lady Dustin cut him off, "I loved him you know. Gave myself to him."

"Eddard?"

"No, Brandon. He was fostered at the Rills by my father. Took me four times in one afternoon. He wasn't called wild for nothing. I wanted to marry him, but old Rickard Stark wouldn't have it, he had southern ambitions for his boys. So I married Willam Dustin, who was boring but I was fond of him. Then Eddard Stark took Willam south. He died down there. Did honourable Ned bring me his bones? No, he brought me a horse. So much for the Starks' great care for their vassals."

"So you sent the bare minimum of troops south with the Young Wolf, and now you want revenge." The torchlight flickered across her face accentuating her harsh features. She was a formidable woman, driven by her hatred, and Roose would use it to his advantage.

"I do. I hated Eddard Stark as I hated Rickard Stark, because I loved Brandon. The North remembers, Lord Bolton, and we shall have revenge for the wrongs done to us."


	62. Chapter 62: Jon V

_NOTE - Back to the Wall. Enjoy!  
_

_Jon_

He had sent his brother, his cripple little brother, out beyond the Wall. What had possessed him? Wracked by guilt, he had nearly ridden out after them to bring them back. He had stopped himself. He knew Bran wouldn't have come back, even if he had wanted to. His little brother believed he had a mission, and Jon was powerless to stop him.

Othell Yarwyck's report must have been favourable, as within the week the new garrison of the Nightfort arrived, one hundred men under Jarmen Buckwell, who also carried a letter from the Lord Commander, which Jon read to his officers in the newly cleared out common hall.

_Lord Snow, your command of the Nightfort has been confirmed after favourable reports of your ability from both First Builder Yarwyck and Theon Greyjoy. You have been given twenty rangers under Jarmen Buckwell, twenty stewards under Red Alyn, and sixty builders under Young Henly. You are to repair and defend the Nightfort, nothing more. You may not send out rangers. Repair and defend the Nightfort._

"Those are our orders gentlemen. Henly, we need to get the barracks sorted first, before the brothers freeze to death, then the defences along the wall and the stair."

"Yes Lord Snow."

"Jarmen, we need people watching the Wall. But we can't until the stair is repaired, so your rangers will join in the work, we will have no idle hands. Also, send out five to see if they can get some meat, we might as well stock up as best we can. Alyn, have you men get to work on some dinner. Dismissed. Theon, stay please."

When the other men had filed out, Jon turned to Theon. "You sent a positive report to the Old Bear? Why?"

"Because he asked me to report on your abilities as a commander. We are to put our pasts behind us in the Watch, so I tried to do that and gave an honest report."

"Saying?"

"That you were inexperienced but confident, and did what you believed right."

"Thank you Theon. I believe I owe you an apology. It is now obvious that you didn't kill my brother. You did turn on those who raised you, and take my home, but you didn't kill my brother. Dismissed."

* * *

That had been four weeks ago. Since then, enough of the barracks had been repaired to enable the builders to move on to fixing the stair, which had now been re-cut. There was as yet no rail, but there were other more important matters to deal with. The rangers had primarily been focused on gathering supplies, and they had been rather successful. Over the years of the Nightfort's abandonment, the forest had largely grown back, almost to the castle's perimeter, and it seemed that wildlife had flourished in the woods. Dozens of deer and six boar were the largest kills, but there were also, uncounted pheasants, hares and rabbits. The builders were currently engaged on repairing the defenses of the Wall itself, while the stewards cleared buildings of ice and completed other tasks that did not require the builders' specialist knowledge in addition to collecting firewood and other everyday tasks.

Jon had finally found a way to get Theon out from under his hair and put him to good use, leading the hunting parties. His expertise at archery had netted a substantial portion of the kills, earning him a measure of respect from the men. Jon, however, did not go hunting. He remained behind, overseeing and helping with physical labour. He was helping with cutting wood to make new tables for the common hall, the old ones having rotted away, when the horn sounded. One blast. The entirety of the garrison waited. The second blast followed not long after. _Wildlings._

"To arms!" He bellowed, "To the Wall!"

He buckled on his sword and ran out to the training ground where the others were gathering. Ghost appeared at his side. Bows were being distributed and they took up swords and axes. They had few spears or shields, but that was irrelevant now. The trick would be to repel the wildlings before they made the top of the Wall. There was no chain as at Castle Black, so the key weapon was the bow. He ran up the stair, Ghost ahead of him, Red Alyn and Theon behind him.

When they reached the top, he marched over to Jarmen Buckwell, who had sounded the horn.

"Saw them coming out of the forest Commander. They've begun to climb."

"How many?"

"No more than forty."

"Must be a scouting force from Mance's main army, trying to find a place to climb the Wall."

"My thoughts exactly my lord."

Jon took his place on the Wall, nocked an arrow and waited. "As soon as you can aim properly, fire. They do not make the summit."

The waiting was the hardest part. Then the first wildling appeared. Bald as an egg, with a crude axe in hand, he snarled as he climbed. Jon put an arrow through his throat. Soon the arrows were falling thick and fast, and the wildlings fell like wheat. Gradually, it became clear that no more were making the climb.

Theon turned to him smiled, "That was easy. If that's all Mance Rayder has to offer, it's no wonder they've never taken the Wall."

Jon did not smile, "They'll be back, and there'll be more of them." He turned to one of the brothers, "Pate, run to Chett and tell him to send a raven to Castle Black saying that we've been attacked by a scouting force trying to climb the Wall."

Jarmen Buckwell's voice stopped the lad in his tracks, "You may want to hold off on that my lord, look." He wasn't pointing out beyond the Wall this time, but towards the forest to the rear of the Nightfort. There, they could see a force of men running out of the woods and straight for the fort.

"Shit," said Theon.

"They must have crossed at one of the other forts. There look to be nearly three hundred, Lord Snow." Jarmen drew his sword.

Jon did the same. "Back to the fort!" I want three men to remain here, sound the horn if they try and climb again." With that, he raised Longclaw and ran back down the stair.

Upon reaching the bottom of the stair, he saw chaos. The wildlings were inside, and the few brothers who had remained below were doing their best to hold them. Ulmer was there, with his great longbow, firing shaft after shaft into their midst. Grenn had found a huge sword and was laying about him. One of the builders whom Jon didn't recognise smashed in a skull with a smithy hammer. The wildlings were big, and most were bald, a few had filed their teeth to points, but they seemed well equipped with rusty armour and short spears.

"Dammit." Jarmen cursed, "I fucking hate Thenns."

Jon plunged in, Longclaw singing death. He cut down one, then another. On screamed at him calling him 'crow'. He dimly recalled seeing Rugen impaled by three spears, and Pate slashed across the stomach. The lad screamed as he tried to hold his guts in, before the Thenn cut off his head with another swing. Jon kicked another to the ground and Ghost tore out his throat. Then he saw a huge man with a great axe cut down two of the brothers, before Red Alyn and Jarmen charged him. Jon left them to it, just getting Longclaw up in time to block an overhead swing. He slammed the wolfshead pommel into the wildling's face. As the man cried out, Jon punched him in the stomach. The impact was not as great as he had wished due to the man's heavy furs, but it bough Jon enough time to reverse Longclaw and plunge it into his chest. The Valyrian steel shone as the blood ran along it's length. He kicked the body from his blade, preparing to face the next man. He didn't know how long he fought for, but his sword-arm grew tired, and he lost count of the number he killed.

Eventually, the fighting slowed. As the last man threw down his weapons, the black brothers collectively relaxed. The death toll was high. Just under forty had survived, with maybe twenty wildlings captured. Many had fled into the woods, but more were dead. Jon went to view the prisoners and saw the huge man whom Jarmen and Alyn had charged, kneeling with the others. He called to Jarmen, who limped over.

"Who is that?"

"Sigorn, the son of the Magnar of Thenn."

"The Magnar?"

"The Thenns are unlike the other wildlings, they have lords and laws. Magnar means lord in the Old Tongue. He's an arrogant fucker, and he's strong, tore Red Alyn's throat out once he'd been disarmed, but I got him beat."

"How?"

"Even a man that strong can't fight well with only one hand. And he still killed Henly before he gave up."

"I want to speak with him."

"As you wish my lord." The two of them walked over to the chained Thenn.

"You are Sigorn?"

"Who's asking?"

"Jon Snow, Commander of the Nightfort."

"You're a fucking crow, not a commander."

"It doesn't matter what I am. How did you cross the Wall?"

"At Icemark. Climbed the Wall to fuck you in the arse."

"Where's the rest of Mance's army?"

"It doesn't matter. You crows are done. Castle Black will have fallen before you reach it. My father leads the ambush."

"We'll see. When we throw you back, we'll see."

"You're dead anyway crow. Why do you think we march? You think we're bad? Wait until the dead arrive."

"The dead?"

"Aye, the blue-eyed dead." Jon wanted to dismiss this as nonsense, but the look in the Thenn's eyes made that impossible.

"Thank you Sigorn."

Jon walked away. He called Theon and Jarmen to him, his only remaining officers. "Get the men ready to march."

"Our orders are to stay here, my lord."

"I know Jarmen, but Castle Black will soon be under attack. If Castle Black falls, what good will having the Nightfort do us? We march as soon as possible."

"What of the prisoners Jon?"

"Bring them. Theon, you're in charge of making sure the big bastard doesn't escape."


	63. Chapter 63: Bran IV

_NOTE - Final North update for now. Next chapter we return to the soft, southern lands. A couple of new sections for this chapter, including some Summer POV. Enjoy!  
_

_Bran_

Not for the first time, he wished his legs would work again. The walk north had been hard on them all, even Hodor and Harrion were bone tired. Bran dreamed of the three-eyed crow every night now, mixed in with his dreams of being in Summer's skin. The wolf had seen the wildling army from far away, seen them marching on the Wall. He had awoken and told Harrion, told him they had to warn Jon.

"There's no point lad. One of us back there is one of us less here, and we'd never get back through the portal anyway. The Night's Watch will do fine on their own."

The knight was right, he knew, but that didn't mean it felt right. Jon was his brother, he didn't want him to be caught unawares as he had when Theon had taken Winterfell.

They trudged on for days, Bran's cart become frozen stiff as the snow fell thick and fast. Eventually they had to abandon it and Hodor carried him. Osha and Harrion carried most of the weight, while Ben, Meera and Jojen took what they could. Food was limited to what Jon had given them at the Nightfort, and they rationed it carefully. On one occasion Ben had taken more than his share and Osha had hit him with the haft of her spear. No-one stole food after that.

Harrion had taken to keeping warm in the evenings by training Ben. The Umber was proving quite good with a sword, though Osha and Meera could both beat him. Hodor liked to watch, humming to himself, letting out the occasional 'Hodor' while Bran and Jojen talked of the powers of wargs and the three-eyed crow. Jojen told him stories, of the skinchangers of Skagos, who could inhabit any animal they chose, of the crannogman greenseers and of the wildling wargs.

"How do you know all of this?"

"My father told me when it was discovered that I had the greensight."

"Your father is Howland Reed, the Lord of Greywater Watch?"

"Yes."

"Is it true that Greywater Watch moves?"

"Yes. It is built on a floating island in the marshes. No outsiders can find us, we have to find them."

"Your father saved my father's life in the war."

"In the Rebellion?"

"Yes. You didn't know?"

"My father never talks about the war." Jojen looked down at the ground, as if ashamed. Bran found this curious, but did not press the issue. He had learnt that, if you wanted Jojen to tell you something, you had to wait until he was willing to say it.

"You are your father's heir aren't you?"

"Technically."

"Then one day you will be the Lord of Greywater?"

"No."

"Why not?"

"I don't think that we should talk about that. We have much to discuss."

* * *

_He was padding through the forest. There was no prey here. Why had his man made them come this way? His man was small and could not walk, he had to protect him. The big-steel-man and the stick-woman would protect his man while he hunted. But he hunted alone. He had had pack-brothers before, and pack-sisters, two of each, and the silent one. He had seen the silent one not long ago, back at the man-wall with the black-fur-men. His pack-brother's man had been there, and the man-with-no-wolf.  
_

_He kept looking. His man needed food. What was that? He flattened himself low to the ground as the rustling grew nearer. It smelt like man, but somehow, off. Like a three-week-old carcass. His mouth slavered at the thought. Then it came into the clearing. It was a man, or had been a man. There were more of them, many. They had sticks and steel and stone. He must get back to his man._

Bran awoke with a start, sweating profusely, just as Summer ran into their camp. He knew what the direwolf had seen.

"Everyone! Get up! Wake up!"

Osha was the first up, spear in hand. "What is it little lord?"

"They're coming!"

"What are?"

Jojen replied, "The dead ones."

"Oh shit." Osha swore as she turned towards the directinon in which Bran was pointing. She threw him her dagger, "Knife 'em if they get too close."

The rest of the company were up now as well. Ser Harrion drew his blade.

"What is it? Wildlings?"

"Worse. Wights." Osha replied.

"Nonsense! They're from stories to scare little children...Seven save me." As he had turned away to laugh, he saw them enter the clearing. Shuffling forward in unordered ranks, they came on. Osha lit a torch from the fire, and used it to light others, which she gave to the others.

"This is why I went south, why the Free Folk are attacking the Wall, why Mance is scared. You can cut their arms off but they don't die. Burn them. Knock 'em back and stick a torch in 'em. That's the only way to do it."

She threw herself forward, spear held like a quarterstaff. As she slammed a wight to the floor, Jojen lept forward and shoved his torch into it's face and the corpse ignited as if covered in pitch. The flames seemed to break the spell, and the rest of the company began to attack. Meera entangled one with her net, then pulled it out from underneath the wight's feet and set it ablaze. Harrion held his sword in one hand and a torch in the other, lopping off limbs and thrusting the torch into their faces. Ben was behind the big knight, setting any that fell on fire. Jojen did the same for Osha. Summer was amongst them, throwing himself at their throats and ripping off their heads, though that did not kill them. Bran felt useless, sitting there against a tree, Hodor was with him, cowering, and hodoring to himself.

Then Bran thought, with Hodor's great strength, he would be a useful ally in the battle. He reached out with his mind and touched the big stableboy's. Hodor whimpered, but did not struggle as Bran assumed control. Hodor's mind was much different to those of Summer or the birds on which he'd practiced. It was much larger, seeming cavernous, but muddled, confused. Bran could feel Hodor's discomfort. _I'm sorry Hodor, but I have to help them. _ He mad ethe stableboy stand and draw his huge rusty sword. Then he charged.

He barrelled into one of them, crushing it into the snow, before decapitating another. He felt Hodor's panic as his body did things without him telling it to. The simple-minded giant was in agony, and so confused, Bran didn't have the heart to carry on. He released Hodor and reached around for something to command. He made contact with an eagle, flying high above them. He directed it downwards and into the faces of the wights. He clawed and pecked at their eyes, but they did not slow, or even react. Suddenly, he felt his material body being lifted, and wrenched himself from the eagle.

Back in his body, he realised that he had indeed been lifted, by a huge, red-bearded wight, it's eyes a vivid blue. He drew the knife and plunged it into the creature, but it's grip was iron. He was sure he was going to die. Then, without warning, the corpse was on fire, and he fell to the ground. Ser Harrion Stout stood over him.

"Come on lad, let's get you warm."

* * *

He awoke by the fire. His friends were all staring at him.

"What?"

"Hodor. What did you do?"

"I tried to make him fight."

Osha hissed, "Monster." She stood and stalked away. Harrion followed her, somewhat distressed.

Bran turned to Jojen, "What does she mean?"

"Firstly, this means you are not a warg, you are a skinchanger."

"What is the difference?"

"A warg can only control the mind of a wolf or dog. A skinchanger can place his consciousness inside any living creature."

"But why am I a monster?"

Osha returned, "Because only a monster would seek to control another human being."

"I didn't know! I was just trying to help!"

Harrion came to his defence, "Go easy on the lad Osha. He didn't know, he probably didn't even do it on purpose, and Hodor's help was vital."

The wildling woman glared at him. "Don't do it again little lord. Animals only. Leave the sweet giant alone."

When Bran slept that night, his dreams were different. There was no sign of the three-eyed crow or his wandering wolf. Only a darkened plain, a storm of ice, and a pair of ice-blue eyes.


	64. Chapter 64: Margaery VI

_NOTE - From as far north as north goes to as far south as south goes. Enjoy!  
_

_Margaery_

Their welcome at the Water Gardens had been warm, much warmer than she had expected given the tradition of enmity between the Reach and Dorne. Some of the Martells had been frosty, particularly Princess Arianne and the Sand Snakes, but the fact that they knew that Prince Oberyn held Willas in high esteem held them back.

When they had arrived, she, Willas, Quentyn and Guyard walked up to Prince Doran's chair, and the man smiled.

"My son. You are home."

Quentyn had flushed. He hadn't been to the Water Gardens or Sunspear since he had left for Yronwood ten years ago. "I am father."

"And your beautiful bride." Doran turned his smile to her. "I apologise for not rising, my lady Tyrell, but my legs have become most uncooperative of late. I trust my son has behaved himself?"

"No need to apologise, my prince. Quentyn has been the perfect gentleman. May I introduce my brother, Willas Tyrell, heir to Highgarden."

"Ah, Lord Willas, Oberyn has told me much of you. Another man with a passion for hawking, I hear. Unfortunately, athletic endeavours are quite beyond me now, but I used to be a great fan of hawks."

"Your welcome is most gracious, Prince Doran."

"You are too kind. Who is this man?" The Prince pointed to Guyard.

"He is my sworn sword, assigned to me by the late Lord Renly Baratheon, Ser Guyard Morrigen."

"Welcome ser. Now then, will you perhaps join me in my solar?"

* * *

A much more restricted party gathered in Prince Doran's solar. Instead of the full Dornish court, only a few Martells were present; Prince Doran, Quentyn, Princess Arianne, a knight she did not know and two other women. The other noticeable presence was the huge frame of the captain of guard. His huge axe marked him out as a Norvoshi, but she had no idea of his name.

As she and Willas sat, Prince Doran sighed.

"There is much you must be updated on. Firstly, my brother Oberyn and the Imp have sailed for Volantis, there to meet Varys and your brother."

"Loras set sail as soon as he was told the plan."

"Excellent. Also, Cersei Lannister and her little family were due to be shipped to Casterly Rock, out of mercy for our onetime alliance. Unfortunately, their party, led by my niece Obara, was ambushed by a trio of Westerland knights, led by Ser Addam Marbrand here." He gestured to the knight in the corner.

Willas spoke, "Forgive me my Prince, surely that means that they are headed back to Casterly Rock?"

"No. Kevan Lannister rules now and has declared the West for Stannis. Tywin is dead. Cersei, Joffrey and Tommen are bound for King's Landing. Stannis has agreed to give Tommen back to Lord Kevan, but Cersei and Joffrey will die."

Something didn't stack up to Margaery. "You didn't mention Myrcella."

"No. Obara, tended not to think about the consequences of her actions. She killed Myrcella, rather than let her escape."

"Kevan will not ally with the people who killed his niece."

"Exactly. Obara's folly may have cost us the Lannisters, such as they are now."

One of the women she didn't know spoke up, "We do not want or need the Lannisters. They killed Elia and Rhaenys and little Aegon."

"Peace, Tyene. Gregor Clegane and Amory Lorch killed them and Lord Tywin ordered it, they are dead. Of Tywin's children, Jaime is imprisoned, Cersei is bound for execution and Tyrion will not survive the journey to Volantis, there is Faceless Man hunting him. Kevan is a much more reasonable man, we could have used him and his."

Tyene Sand was not having any of this. "I will not fight alongside the Lannisters. You are a coward Uncle. Oberyn would never just sit here and cower in his bath water, leaving the job half done. He would go and finish the Lannisters." She drew a dagger and thrust it, point down into the table.

Then Margaery realised why the captain was present. In less than a second, his blade was level with the Sand Snakes throat.

"I would put that away if I were you Hotah." The other woman rose, drawing another dagger. Our father taught us well.

The guard did not move. Until, Prince Doran spoke. "Put up your axe Areo. Tyene, your presence is causing unnecessary tension, please leave us."

She did as instructed, though not before calling her uncle a coward one last time.

Prince Doran sighed again, "The arrogance of youth. You northerners say we Dornish are crazy, and when I look at my brother's children I see why. My brother is the Viper, dangerous, feared by all. I am the grass. No fears the grass, yet it hides the viper until it is time to strike. The time is soon upon us. Aegon will soon return to Westeros, with Daenerys not far behind him. There were suggestions that we should marry the two of them, but I do not think it wise. The Targaryen inter-marriage record is not a good one in terms of sanity, and we have a triple alliance to seal. Targaryen, Martell and Tyrell, as it was in the Rebellion. I am sure the Lady Olenna informed you of the scheme, but I shall run it past you again. Lady Margaery, you will marry my son Quentyn, my heir-"

He was cut off from an outburst from Princess Arianne. "I am your heir father! Sunspear and Dorne are mine once you die, the people will not stand for you passing me over on the basis of being a woman. I knew you would do this, ever since I read that letter you sent Quentyn six years ago."

"I wish my family were not so hot-headed. Arianne, I am passing no-one over. Quentyn will be Prince of Dorne, as you shall be too busy being Queen in King's Landing. You shall marry Aegon."

"But I will still be your heir."

"Arianne, I gave you that book on Dornish Law. Did you read it?"

"Of course not. I had much more important things to do."

"Of course you did. But if you had read it you would know that a woman surrenders her inheritance rights if she marries the head or heir of another house, as you would be doing by marrying Aegon."

"You would deny me my inheritance?"

"And make you Queen. You are not telling me that you would rather be a Princess than a Queen?" Arianne subsided after this chiding.

Doran coughed before continuing, "Your brother Loras has gone east to marry Daenerys, and our triple alliance is complete. Yet, here you are Willas, the heri to Highgarden, and unmarried."

"Here I am. My grandmother mentioned there was a part for me in this."

"Indeed. Do not worry, we have Sansa Stark. She was entrusted to Lord Baelish's care, an apparent mistake on my part. He tried to spirit her away, but thanks to the efforts of Obara, Nymeria and Ser Addam, she is back safely. Obara was killed attempting to rescue her, and Baelish was killed for his deception."

"I would very much like to meet her."

"So you shall, but all in good time."

Then Quentyn spoke up, looking confused, "Father, what is the significance of Sansa Stark? She is not the heir to the North, she has three brothers, and the youngest of them is to marry Shireen Baratheon. She will bring no soldiers and no lands."

"No she will not, but she brings her name, which is influential on its own. The main problem following the Rebellion was that there was no attempt to reconcile the kingdoms who had fought on different sides. The marriage of a Tyrell and a Stark will help prevent the same issue occurring in Aegon's reign. Also, her mother had five children, so she is likely to be fertile, and as a Stark, a suitable match for the heir to Highgarden. The lady Olenna was quite specific, she wanted her for Willas, not for either of my sons as was the original plan."

"When will I meet her, my Prince?"

"Ser Addam will take you to her rooms."

As they walked, Willas began to question the knight.

"Ser Addam Marbrand?"

"Yes, my lord?"

"What is one of Kevan Lannister's knights doing in the service of Prince Doran Martell?"

"I was sent by Lord Kevan with two others to kidnap Cersei, Joffrey, Myrcella, Tommen, the Imp and Lady Sansa, and return them to Kings Landing. Cersei and Joffrey were to be executed, Myrcella and Tommen were to be entrusted to Lord Kevan, Tyrion was to stand trial and Sansa was to be returned to her family and betrothed to Lord Harold Arryn. I failed. Myrcella was killed, and Tyrion escaped to Volantis. My companions took the Lannisters to the capital, and I remained to protect Sansa as best I could. I tried to break her out, but was captured by Prince Doran's guards. He then sent me out to bring her back after Baelish took her. In return I was to be given my freedom to return to the West. I leave tomorrow, though I doubt Prince Doran will let me get far, I know too much."

As he stopped speaking, they arrived at a door, which he opened. "This is where I leave you. You should know, Lord Baelish was not gentle with her, she will not be ready for a bedding for some time."

Margaery looked around the chamber, it was beautiful. Pale cream walls with an orange tree painted onto them, and a balcony overlooking the pools. In a chair on the balcony sat a young woman with auburn hair, facing away from them. When she heard the Tyrells enter, she stood and executed a perfect curtsey.

"My apologies my lord, my lady, I did not hear you come in."

"Not at all, Lady Sansa. I am Margaery Tyrell, and this is my brother Willas."

Willas did his best to bow, though it was not easy with his leg.

Sansa was the perfect hostess, she had drinks and chairs brought, she talked at length about the Water Gardens and how much she loved it here, and seemed happy enough. She spoke of Prince Doran and Arianne, whom she said had been 'most generous'. From there, the conversation turned to Quentyn.

"What do you think of him, Margaery?"

"He is sweet and kind, a true knight."

"How lucky you are. They said that about Joffrey, and I believed them. But they were wrong, he was a monster." She looked at Willas, a little fear in her eyes.

To his credit, he managed to smile, "Do not worry my lady, I will not harm you. Ever."

"Why do you want to marry me, my lord?"

"Excuse me?"

"Everyone who has wanted to marry me had some ulterior motive. Joffrey wanted someone to beat and hurt, Lord Baelish said I looked like my mother and I would bring him the North. Why do you want to marry me?"

"I will be honest with you, my lady Sansa. My family want me to marry you to secure good relations with the North. I want to marry you because... I don't know."

"You don't know?" Sansa obviously did not believe him.

Willas pressed on, "I have only just met you."

"What do you want from a wife, my lord?"

Willas turned to Margaery, "Could we have a moment please sister?"

"Of course." She stood and walked away, but waited just beyond the doorway and listened to the conversation that followed.

Her brother's voice drifted back to her, "Lady Sansa, I am not a knight, I am not a great warrior, I cannot joust, I cannot fight for you in a melee. I am not a whole and healthy man, damn my leg. But I can offer you security, I am rich, both through my family and in my own right, I am the heir to Highgarden. I would see you well looked after and cared for. I would love you, my lady, and I would hope that you could love me too. Not now maybe, but in time. they tell me that Darkstar was cruel to you, and I promise that you will never experience that again, not while you are with me. Any intimacy we might have, will be done when you are ready."

"And if I am never ready?"

"Then so be it. As to what I want from a wife, well, I would like my wife to be kind, to love me if she could. I would want children, to raise and look after, to care for and to follow me. I want a quiet life, Lady Sansa, and someone to share it with me."

Margaery smiled and walked away. Whether she realised it or not, Sansa Stark was lucky. She had had more than her share of horrible experiences, but now she had Willas, and Margaery knew that her brother would never hurt Sansa, and would do his best to be worthy of her. The wedding would go ahead whether Sansa wanted it to or not, Prince Doran and her grandmother would insist, but somehow, Margaery did not think Sansa would reject him. She hoped.


	65. Chapter 65: Kevan IX

_NOTE - Kevan update now for those who have been waiting. Enjoy!  
_

_Kevan_

The raven arrived at dawn. _Dark wings, dark words. _The news the raven had brought was indeed dark, but not as Kevan had expected. A summons to court, to collect his wards, be witness to the trials of his family, and to serve his King. He was not ready to leave the West. His bannermen were quarrelsome, and his coasts were threatened by the Ironborn.

He had not had an easy time securing his rule. First he had been forced to make concessions to his various bannermen who had been reluctant to acknowledge him. The Swyfts, Braxes, Serretts, Westerlings, Farmans, Sarsfields, Stackspears and Jasts had been compliant enough, but others had been more troublesome. Lord Crakehall had demanded assistance in reclaiming his seat from the Tyrells, which Kevan had been glad to give. The Crakehalls were a prominent house, and adding them to his side would potentially solve many problems. To that end he had sent Luceon with eight hundred Lannister men to back Lord Roland's bid to reclaim the castle from Willas Tyrell's men. This had given him the support of two of the Lannister's most powerful lordly houses, but the lack of support from the others was well noted. Lord Marbrand still refused to support Kevan until his son was returned to him, and Lord Lefford was openly declaring Kevan a traitor and usurper, calling for the emplacement of Ser Jaime as Lord of Casterly Rock. Lords Banefort, Algood, Greenfield, Prester and Drox declared that they would follow Ashemark's lead, while Lords Lydden, Broom, Bettley, Estren, Foote, Lorch, Kenning and Spicer had joined Lord Lefford.

There had been some small shuffles in the balance of power in the Westerlands. He immediately addressed the issue in Lannisport, naming Daven Lannister as the new Lord of Lannisport. He was a petty lord in truth, with limited lands and soldiers of his own, but he did have command of the Lannisport City Watch and the Lannister fleet. Ser Tybolt did object to Daven's installation, but quietened down when Daven offered to marry his daughter.

Kevan had been most surprised when The Hound presented himself at Casterly Rock requesting that his right to his dead brother's lands be acknowledged. Again, Kevan had given him some men to clear out the Mountain's Men from the keep and secure his rule. Sandor Clegane had sworn himself to House Lannister and expressed his desire to purge his lands of his brother's mark and rebuild. He had refused the knighthood Kevan had offered, but had joked that "Lord Clegane sounds fucking good."

Perhaps it had been foolish of him, but he had needed to send a message. The Clegane territories bordered those of two other small knightly houses, Houses Ruttiger and Lorch, both of whom were sworn to Casterly Rock and had refused to acknowledge Kevan's rule. It had been relatively simple to declare their lands forfeit and give them to Clegane, even simpler to give Lord Sandor the men to back his new position. The Hound at least was loyal, and would stay that way. This had provoked Lord Lefford's coalition to write a letter declaring themselves opposed to his rule and to call their banners. They called themselves the 'Loyal Houses', and presented their terms in letters to both Kevan himself and King Stannis.

_We the below signed declare that Kevan Lannister is a traitor and a usurper. We demand that he be removed from the post he now unlawfully holds and be brought to trial for the willful murder of his brother Lord Tywin Lannister. Furthermore, we insist that he be replaced by Ser Jaime Lannister._

The letter had been short and to the point. Kevan knew that he had the men to crush the dissenters, but not to defend against the ironborn as well. He had to rely upon diplomacy, and he had to do it soon. Stannis was not a patient man, and though Kevan had replied to his raven trying to explain the situation in the West, he knew that this would not change the King's mind. He had been summoned to court, so he would go, but only when he could stall no longer.

Yet these were not the only matters which troubled his mind. Martyn, no, _Ser_ Martyn had arrived home two days previous, with his brother Lancel's body. Kevan himself had knelt at his boy's bedside and wept. His son, his eldest son. A foolish boy to be sure, but his boy. He had been easily influenced and decieved, but he had an honest heart. How many times had he wished that Willem was his heir instead of Lancel? How many times had he cursed Lancel's foolishness? Whatever else he had been, he had been told that he had successfully strengthened Dragonstone when bid, and loyally held the castle against Stannis until his father bent the knee. When he looked at his son's body, he determined that he would go to the capital, not just to bring back Tommen and Myrcella, not only to see Cersei and Joffrey die, not only to defend Tyrion and Jaime at their trials, but also to bring an end to the men responsible for his son's murder. He would find them, and he would see them hang.

But his first weeks of rule had not only been dealing with dissent, he had also planned rewards for his allies. He had taken Rollam Westerling as his squire, and taken a lad from each of Houses Farman, Sarsfield and Serrett as pages at Casterly Rock. However, the most important of these had been when he had sat his twin sons down on their sixteenth nameday, only that morning, and discussed marriage.

"You are both now of marriageable age."

"Yes father."

"You are aware it is expected of you to marry into a good house, to cement our relations with that house."

"Yes father."

"Willem, you are now my heir, as such a marriage from one of the regions more prominent houses will be required. Martyn, you have more choice."

Martyn had laughed at this, "Born twenty minutes later and as many more potential wives, a good exchange!" This remark had earned him a glare from Willem, who promptly pushed the discussion on.

"Do you have anyone in mind, father?"

"I was planning to offer your hand to the lady Alyssa Brax. She is of an age with you, and is the daughter of Lord Andros' eldest son Ser Tytos. I will make sure you meet her before the match is formally offered. As to you Martyn, while you may have more choice, it makes sense that you marry as well as possible. Lord Jast has offered his granddaughter Cerissa, and Lord Stackspear has offered his daughter. A word of advice, I would choose Cerissa Jast, as Serena Stackspear is two-and-thirty and as attractive as a horse."

"Then accept father, I met Cerissa a few years ago at the feast of the harvest that Lord Marbrand threw."

"You both consent?"

"Yes father."

"Then I shall send ravens to accept both proposals. I hope to get the weddings done as one, before we leave for the capital."

"We're going to King's Landing?"

"Yes. We have been summoned to observe the trials of Cersei and Joffrey, and their inevitable executions. Stannis cannot afford to let them live. We are also going to collect Tommen and Myrcella and bring them here, and to bear witness at the trials of Ser Jaime and Tyrion. I will push for their exile, rather than execution."

Martyn spoke up, "King Stannis arrested Ser Axell and Ser Imry Florent for Lancel's murder before I left."

"Yes, and we shall see them hang. We shall travel via Riverrun to collect Ser Jaime."

* * *

The wedding was a quiet affair, limited to family and the few knights and lords who could make it to the Rock on such short notice. The feast was also modest, with winter coming and another war looming, Kevan was determined not to squander his resources. His sons did their duty, but did make the bedding ceremony a much more interesting event. When the time came, called for by Alyssa Brax's uncle Ser Artos, Martyn and Willem each lifted their brides in their arms and ran out of the hall before any of the other men could get near them, causing a great round of laughter.

"Lord Kevan!" Lord Andros called out, "How are we to guarantee a bedding now?"

Kevan's reply had been simple, "I trust my sons to do the job, do you trust your daughter?"

* * *

They set out on the road two days later. Kevan left Genna in charge of the Rock and ruling, and Daven and Lord Clegane in command of his forces. Three hundred men marched to King's Landing with him, enough to ensure they would not be attacked by any of the roaming murder gangs of which rumours had reached them. Part of him was uneasy leaving his lands when they were in such turmoil, but he knew that he was leaving them in capable hands. Genna was fiercely intelligent, a female Tywin is there had ever been one. Lords Brax and Crakehall were on his side, and both were capable men. Sandor Clegane was fierce but loyal, and Daven was equally capable. With Luceon commanding the troops at Crakehall, Damon rode with Kevan to the capital. He planned to plant Damon in court to ensure he was kept abreast of events. Kevan knew that House Lannister would have to step back from the politics of the realm for a time, as Houses Tully, Arryn and Stark rose to prominence, but that didn't mean he should go uninformed of any developments.

As they approached the capital days later, Kevan deliberated. Stannis now had the entirety of the Vale, the Narrow Sea, the Crownlands and the Stormlands behind him. He also had the North, Riverlands and Westerlands, but each of these faced rebellion in their own lands. The Boltons held the majority of the North, and though that hold was shaky, Robb Stark's army was trapped below the Neck. The Tullys had almost finished clearing out the Freys, with the help of the Northerners, and the rebels now held only The Twins and possibly Seagard. There was no outright rebellion in the Westerlands, but the trunculence of a third of the noble houses rendered the Westerlands militarily crippled, especially given the chance of Greyjoy attack being so high. The Reach and Dorne still had their armies at the ready, and camped at various strongholds, apparently waiting for something. He had received word of Prince Doran moving the half of his forces at the Prince's Pass to join the other half at Yronwood, ready to march up the Boneway. To Kevan, this indicated that whatever plan was being hatched, the tyrells and Martells were on the same side. In addition to the rumours of a Targaryen Queen moving west, and the Golden Company having taken an undisclosed contract, Kevan was sure that this would herald a new attempt to restore Targaryen rule to Westeros. It had occurred to him that Bolton and Frey had also had a hand in this, but if so, they had acted too early. Most likely they had been acting on their own self-serving desires, and the plotters then made use of the distraction they caused to strengthen their position.

Of course, he had no proof. The proof would come though, firstly from the five of his knights who were escorting Cersei and her family home. From there, he didn't know what he would do, other than mention his suspicions to the King. He had been given a seat on the Small Council, but he did not plan to take it. He planned to return home to the Rock, to rebuild and to secure his rule, to prepare for winter and to defend his lands, that he and his might better weather the coming tide. But first, he would see Cersei dead, and Joffrey too. She and her vile son were responsible for the near ruin of their house, and he would not suffer them to live. He would take Tommen and Myrcella to the Rock and raise them, when they came of age he would ask Stannis to legitimise them as his children. Tommen would become a knight and he would find Myrcella as best a marriage as he could. As for Tyrion and Jaime, he would do his best for them. He knew that many called for their deaths, but he planned to save them. He did not yet know how this would be achieved, but they always need good men on the Wall, and Jaime's swordsmanship was unparalleled. He rode in chains further down the column, guarded day and night by a group of six hand-picked men. he had objected, but Kevan had been forced to insist. Stannis would not take it well if the Kingslayer entered King's Landing a free man. Tyrion would not be a warrior, but a scholar he could be, the Night's Watch needed knowledge too. Yes, he would beg Stannis to send them to the Wall. He would be sending others north too, some of the Mountain's Men whom Lord Sandor had sent him, and survivors of the bandit gangs which had tried to ambush them earlier on the road.

He had not been in the capital since he had surrendered the Red Keep. He had been the Lord of Dragonstone then, a title lost to him and now held by Davos Seaworth if the reports were to be believed. Since then he had been a Stark captive with his sons, been freed by treachery at the ford, been brutally honest to his brother, been disinherited and disgraced, turned on his kin and sworn loyalty to a different King, served with that King against his brother, attacked his own home, seized his brother's lands and titles and know he returned, seeking vengeance and justice. He was the Lion of Casterly Rock now. Cersei was a lion too, but drenched in blood. The blood of her father, her family and all those who had died in the war, from noble lords and mighty knights, to lowborn archers and peasant levies. Her family sigil was gold, but Cersei was red with blood.

_But a coat of red or a coat of gold, the lion still has claws, and mine are long and sharp, and I shall have my justice._


	66. Chapter 66: Davos X

_NOTE - Written very much to distract me from much more important things. Enjoy!  
_

_Davos_

The ship carrying the Lannisters had arrived four days ago. Lord Kevan Lannister had arrived three days later. The trial was to take place that afternoon. In the interest of a fair trial, there were to be five judges, an odd number so there would be no disagreement with equal numbers on either side. As was tradition, the judges would be drawn from the Great Houses of the Seven Kingdoms. With Dorne and the Reach untrustworthy, the Iron Islands in rebellion, and Lords Stark and Tully dealing with other rebels, that left House Baratheon, House Lannister, House Arryn and the two newest Great Houses, Swann and Seaworth. According to tradition, King Stannis would be the head judge, and would pass sentence, though it would be decided by all five judges. The King had asked Davos to serve, as well as Gulian Swann and Kevan Lannister, the final place being given to Lord Yohn Royce, who would represent House Arryn. The trials taht day would not only deal with Lannisters, but also Sers Imry and Axell Florent.

The King sat on the Iron Throne, with the other four judges in oaken thrones, Davos and Lord Kevan on one side, Lord Swann and Bronze Yohn on the other. Before them was the podium on which the accused would stand, one by one, as they were trialed. The Throne Room was packed with the knights, lords and ladies of the court and beyond. Some would been called to serve as witnesses, others had just come to observe. Looking around, Davos identified many faces. His four eldest sons were present, as were the four knights who had brought the accused to the capital. Sers Lyle Crakehall, Steffon Stackspear, Robert and Flement Brax, looked exhausted, but stood tall, they had done their duty, almost. They had reported Myrcella's death and the escapes of both Tyrion and Sansa Stark to their lord, but Davos had not heard how Lord Kevan had responded. Princess Shireen and Rickon Stark were present, Andros Celtigar behind them as always, and Shaggydog sitting beside his master. Lords Rykker, Velaryon, Celtigar, Massey and more were gathered, as were Ser Erren Florent, Ser Damon Lannister and numerous other notables. He even spotted Tommen, flanked by Lord Kevan's sons, towards the back of the gathering. Between the judges and the podium were arrayed five knights of the Kingsguard. Sers Lucas Rambston, Donnel Locke, Harlan Hunter, Jasper Redfort and Robar Royce stood still as statues, their white armour shining in the sun that lanced through the coloured glass of the windows. The only member of the Kingsguard Davos could not see was the Lord Commander.

Ser Triston Tally made his appearance within minutes of Davos taking his seat. The Lord Commander led the accused to the bench that had been brought in for them. Once all of them were seated, Ser Triston looked to the King.

"Bring forward the first, Lord Commander." Stannis' voice stilled the whispers of the gathered nobles.

Tally gestured to the guards, who picked up Ser Imry and brought him to the podium. He then announced in a clear, deep voice,

"Ser Imry of House Florent, son of Ser Ryam, nephew of the late Lord Alester, brother to the late Queen Selyse, cousin to Lord Alekyne, uncle to the Princess Shireen, charged with the murder of Lancel Lannister, heir to Casterly Rock, and with treason, for endeavouring to incite the Westerlands to rebellion through that murder to enhance his own position."

Imry looked awful, "Please you grace, I never...only wanted to serve...protect you." His words became an unintelligible tangle of syllables. Then Lord Kevan spoke,

"Do you deny your involvement, Ser?"

"No, my lord. I killed your son. My uncle, Ser Axell, said it was for the good of the realm."

Imry's trial was short, as he had confessed, and His Grace passed sentence.

"Ser Imry Florent, we find you guilty. I have a mind to send you to the Wall."

Bronze Yohn's voice cut through the King's, "Your Grace, this man murdered the heir to Casterly Rock. I speak now trying to see this from Lord Lannister's position. He must die."

"I agree. The murder of such a prominent member of our society cannot be unanswered." Lord Swann seconded.

Davos sighed, "I would advise the Wall, your grace. They are in dire need of men. Lord Mormont writes frequently, he needs men who can fight, and who can train others."

The King turned to Kevan. "What say you my lord? This man killed your son."

His lordship stared at Imry. "I will see him dead." His voice was cold, and his eyes colder.

Stannis turned back to Imry, "This court finds you guilty and sentences you to die. Take him away and bring us Ser Axell."

The second Florent knight took his place, shouting of treachery and how he had been betrayed. His trial was even shorter than Imry's. Again, Davos urged mercy, that he be sent to the Wall, but though the King agreed with him, the laws of the realm dictated that the majority carried, so as Lords Swann, Royce and Lannister called for his death, Ser Axell was taken away.

Then the more interesting trials of the day got underway, the ones that most of those present had turned out for.

"Ser Jaime Lannister, called the Kingslayer. On a charge of incest, fornication with a Queen, murder and treason."

The knight, who had been cleaned up after his long imprisonment, called out indignantly, "Murder? Killing someone in battle isn't murder. Not by the laws of the realm."

Ser Triston replied, "The murder of King Aerys, the Mad King, whom you were sworn to protect."

"I was forgiven for that by King Robert Baratheon, his grace's brother. A royal pardon."

Stannis interrupted, "Remove the murder charge."

Ser Jaime smiled, "Thank you."

"Do you deny that you fathered the children of your sister Cersei Lannister?"

"Of course I deny it. I also have nothing but contempt for your court. I demand trial by combat."

A murmur ran through the hall. No-one could beat Jaime Lannister in a one-on-one fight. The man smiled and leaned back on the podium, raising his hands above his head.

"Anybody? Nobody? Oh what a shame. Tell me Stannis, what happens when an accuser is unable to field a champion?"

"Then he himself must fight."

"I look forward to cutting your head off your grace."

"I am not your accuser, it would be unreasonable of me to do so and claim to be the judge at the same time."

"Then who accuses me?" The Kingslayer kept smiling, obviously confident that he could defeat anyone.

"I do." A small voice called out. Tommen pushed himself through the crowds. "You are my father, mother told me so in Dorne. You and her, and now the world knows. Joff is horrible, the Dornish killed Myrcella, and it's all your fault. You and mother. I am going to Casterly Rock with Uncle Kevan, but you are guilty father. Mother had Lancel kill King Robert, and now the two of you have got Cella killed. She was my sister. The two of you, her parents, killed her with your game of thrones," The lad was crying openly now. "Are you going to kill me too father?"

Jaime Lannister deflated, his mocking smile was gone, and he fell to his knees, "No. No I will not kill you, my son."

The court exploded into uproar. Shouts of 'abomination' and 'sinner' were hurled, and a few more choicely worded insults. Cersei flung herself at her brother, screaming, calling him a traitor, she slapped him hard across the face before a guard seized her and pulled her back. Eventually, order was restored, and Stannis stood.

"Did you father your sister's children, Ser Jaime?"

"Yes, damn you, yes."

"Did you put them up as the true heirs to the throne, causing a very bloody war?"

"Fuck you all, yes I did."

"Then I move to the judges to discuss sentence. We shall retire, and will return when we are decided."

The five men left the hall, and convened in a small chamber. Stannis spoke first, "I would have him killed."

Lord Swann agreed, "He must die."

Lord Kevan spoke next, "Your Grace, I request that he be sent to the Wall. He has confessed, which traditionally merits the mercy of the Night's Watch, especially in a treason case. It could have been much worse. If he had insisted upon a trial by combat, which he could have done, he would be walking free by now."

Davos felt it was now time for him to speak, "Your Grace, if you send the Kingslayer to the Wall, the realm will know you as merciful, and like you the better for it. If you execute him, you will remove any doubt as to your desire to avenge your brothers death."

"Which would you advise, Lord Davos?"

"I would advise the Wall, your grace."

Lord Kevan nodded, "It is the best place for him. He is an outstanding fighter, and the Wall needs such men now. I too have heard of the wildling army moving on Castle Black. I sent Lord Mormont the pick of the men from the Rocks dungeons and a group of my men who volunteered to go, but they will not be enough. Thirty men will not make a difference. Jaime might."

"Very well. Are we agreed? Yohn, Gulian?"

Lord Royce nodded, "I agree."

Lord Swann's reply was not as confident, "I suppose I agree, but I feel the realm would be better served by his death."

The five men returned to the Throne Room. As they did so, the crowd were hushed, and Jaime Lannister looked up. He had not moved from his kneeling position on the floor.

The King moved forward, "Ser Jaime Lannister. We have concluded that you are guilty as charged. Tomorrow morning you shall board a ship bound for Eastwatch-by-the-sea, and from there ride to Castle Black. Your life belongs to the Night's Watch now. Take him away."

As the Kingslayer was dragged away, Joffrey was brought to the platform.

"Uncle Stannis, I did nothing, only what my mother instructed me. Do not kill me, it's all her fault." He mewled and sniffled like a small child.

Bronze Yohn, who did not approve of anyone acting in such a manner, never mind a man claiming to be a King, bellowed, "Silence, you snivelling -"

"Thank you Lord Royce. Ser Triston, the charges."

"Usurping the Iron Throne, the unlawful murder of Lord Eddard Stark, the physical abuse of Lady Sansa Stark, murder of two prostitutes, and willful misrule."

"She deserved it! Her brother was a traitor!"

Davos felt he had to ask, "So she, who could not have had anything to do with her brother's actions, had to be stripped and beaten by your guards, in fornt of the whole court?"

"It was no less than what she deserved." Joffrey turned to his uncle. "Uncle Kevan, help me, you know I didn't do anything wrong. Let me go back to the Rock with you and Tommen."

"I would not have you in my castle, Joffrey. Not for all the world. I warned you when I served as your regent, you had to change the way you ruled or face the consequences. Did you change? No. I wash my hands of you, both you and your mother." Lord Kevan stood. "Your Grace, I feel I am too emotionally involved in this case, and am unfit to serve as a judge. I recommend Lord Ontario Jast to serve in my stead."

Stannis looked momentarily shocked before it dawned on him what Kevan had done. By fighting so fiercely for Jaime, but then abandoning Joffrey and Cersei, Kevan had clearly stated who he believed guilty and enforced House Lannister's new direction under Stannis' rule. Also, by declaring himself unfit to pass judgement, he had shown himself to be a man who abided by law, and distanced himself from the inevitable announcement of a death sentence. Though, the recommendation of Lord Jast ensured that his voice would still be heard in the deliberations. Davos did not doubt that Jast would say exactly what Kevan told him to, especially given the recent marriage between Kevan's son Ser Martyn and Jast's granddaughter.

The sentence was passed quickly, and as expected, Joffrey was sentenced to die. The lad was an idiot, he should have just confessed, and he might have found his way to the Wall with his father, but no, he had chosen death.

When Cersei was brought forward, she fared little better than her son, "I demand to be set free at once, I am the rightful Lady of Casterly Rock!"

"How do you work that one out?" Lord Rykker shouted from the crowd.

"My father is dead, Jaime is Night's Watch, Tyrion is gone. I, not Kevan, am the rightful ruler of Casterly Rock."

Now his chance had come, Davos stood.

"No you are not. I have here the will of the late Lord Tywin Lannister. He may have been a traitor to the realm, but his will is still legally binding. It was sent to me by Lady Genna Lannister, who now serves as castellan at Casterly Rock. It is witnessed by her and by the former castellan, the late Ser Damion Lannister, who gave his life to ensure that Kevan became Lord Lannister. The will names Kevan Lannister as Lord Tywin's legal heir, with nothing to be given to his children."

Cersei's response was thunderous, "You think a piece of paper protects you uncle?" She screamed, "I will see your head on a spike!"

Stannis cut across her. "Cersei Lannister, I have had enough of this mummer's farce. You are guilty, by the admission of your brother, and your son. How do you plead?"

"I do not plead. I demand trial by combat."

"Who do you name as your champion?"

"I am a Queen, and as such my honour shall be defended by a member of the Kingsguard. I name my brother, Ser Jaime Lannister." Her grin was smug and Davos could tell she thought she had won. However, she had forgotten something vital.

"Ser Jaime belongs to the Night's Watch now. But as you insist, you can have your choice of your remaining Kingsguard. Ser Boros Blount, who is sitting in the Black Cells, or Ser Mandon Moore, who joined him there when you arrived." Stannis' voice was flat, as if discussing the weather.

"I name Ser Mandon."

Of course she did. She was not likely to name Blount, who had always been fat and useless, but was no longer fat after his stay in the cells. He had heard that Mandon was a solid sword, and better than the average knight.

Stannis responded to her challenge, "Very well then. Ser Mandon will face my champion at dawn tomorrow."

Ser Harlan Hunter stepped forward, "Your Grace, it would be my honour to represent you."

Ser Jasper Redfort quickly did the same, "I request the honour, my king."

"Ser Harlan, you spoke first, so the task shall fall to you."

"I thank you, your grace."

"This trial is dismissed."

* * *

Davos was due to sail that evening, meaning he would miss the trial, but he didn't really mind. He had never been one to enjoy watching death. Yes, he had killed, but he didn't like it. His fleet was prepared, and so he would sail.

As he boarded his ship _Black Betha_, he found many of his captains waiting for him. Three of his four eldest sons stood at the back of the gathering. Allard would captain _Wild Wolf _as his usual ship, _Lady Marya_, was not suited to battle. Matthos had taken control of _Storm Queen_ and Maric _Falcon_. Dale, the eldest, had already sailed for their lands on Cape Wrath, to bring his mother, two younger brothers and wife to their new home on Dragonstone. He would not be joining the fleet, but would instead remain, with the two smaller ships of their house, and rule their new seat. Since Devan's death, Davos had become increasingly wary of losing his boys, and it had taken all of his effort to make Dale agree to stay behind, even then he had only agreed for the sake of his wife.

On the subject of wives, Davos had written to his wife, asking her to make inquiries of their new vassals, sounding out potential brides for Allard, Matthos and Maric. He had spoken briefly to Lord Celtigar, who had seemed amenable to the wedding of Allard and his daughter Kyra, but there was no official betrothal. Ardrian would sail with the fleet as Davos' second, and he hoped to formalise the union on the journey. He stopped his musing when one of the captains coughed.

"My lord? Our orders?"

"Of course. Forgive me. We sail east to Dragonstone, where I shall bury my son. Then, joined by the rest of the fleet commanded by Aurane Waters, we sail south and around Dorne, making for the Arbor. If Paxter Redwyne will not join us, we shall destroy his fleet. Then we move north to battle the Iron Fleet. Simple really. We shall number some one hundred and twenty ships, enough to deal with Redwyne and put off any pirates. To your ships, gentlemen."

Davos had never sailed to battle before. He had sailed to land a conquering army, he had smuggled thousands of dragons of commodities, but battle was new to him. He hoped he would be good enough to do the job.


	67. Chapter 67: Shireen III

_NOTE - Another King's Landing chapter, and crunch time for Cersei. Enjoy!  
_

_Shireen_

She went with Rickon out to the training grounds, where the trial by combat was to take place. She had spoken with Ser Harlan yesterday and he had seemed confident, but Ser Mandon was Kingsguard too. She was nervous, she knew what would happen if Harlan lost. Cersei Lannister would go free, and that was no good thing. Ser Andros had told her that Moore would not best Harlan, but she was anxious all the same.

She took her place in the stalls nearest the royal seats. She would normally have sat beside her father, but today those seats were given to the judges. Only her father, Lord Royce and Lord Swann remained of the original five judges, with Lord Lannister replaced by Old Lord Jast and Lord Seaworth taken the fleet to Dragonstone. Lord Velaryon had taken Davos' place to represent the Narrow Sea, it would have been Lord Celtigar, Ser Andros' father, but he had sailed as well. All those who had been present at the trial had also turned out for the fight, dressed in their finery. Lord Rykker had agreed to officiate and stood in the centre of the grounds, clad in dark grey armour and a midnight blue cloak, a huge warhammer across his back. Others she recognised were at the arena's corners; Ser Marlon Manderly, Ser Brus Buckler, Ser Donnel Swann and Ser Lyle Crakehall.

When her step-mother the Queen sat down in the royal seats behind the King, Rickon leaned over to her." Queen Lara's stomach is bigger. Has she eaten too much?"

Shireen was momentarily shocked at his cheek, but then she realised that he was joking. "No she hasn't." She hushed her voice, "You're not to tell anyone, but she's pregnant. Father wants to wait to announce it."

Rickon pressed a finger to his lips and patted Shaggydog's head. The direwolf, though tall enough to lick her face when they were both standing, had taken to placing his head on her lap when she sat. Shaggy had taken to following her around the Red Keep whenever Rickon was doing something the wolf couldn't be present for. Shireen knew that his presence frightened some of her handmaids, but she didn't care, he made her feel safe. Once, when Rickon had gone on an overnight hunt, Shaggy had sat at the foot of her bed until she invited him to join her. The wolf had been warm and his fur soft and his presence had been comforting. Some of her handmaids, the ones whom he scared, whispered about her becoming wild, about how it was Rickon's fault, how he was corrupting her, but she did not care. Those girls were the same ones who whispered about her greyscale, how she wasn't pretty enough to be a Princess. Her father would have them removed if he knew, but she knew that their positions were rewards to loyal houses, so she tolerated them. Anyway, words were wind.

Looking around, she saw Lord Kevan Lannister and his family sitting a few rows back from her. He was older than her father, his golden hair turning to grey, but he had a strong face and stood tall. She had seen him, Lord Davos and her father talking the day before and thought how the three of them looked like they were a team, but she didn't know how true it was. If it was true, the realm was in safe hands. His lordship had been given the title Master of War, making him overall commander and co-ordinator of the realms armies. Though theoretically a title only needed in times of war, it also brought a position on the Small Council. Her father told her that it was a role suggested by him to King Robert, who had called it 'unnecessary and futile', but that it was anything but. The title of King's Hand placed too much upon one man in times of war, he had said, so another must manage the war, and advise the King on these matters. The Master of War was one step up from the four Wardens of the North, South, East and West, though in peace it was more of an honourific than a practical title, just as the Wardens were.

Beside him sat her cousin Tommen, no, he wasn't her cousin. He was handsome, only a little younger than her and she liked him. While Joffrey had mocked her greyscale, Tommen and Myrcella had always been kind. She was saddened by Cella's death, she had hoped to persuade her father to let her come to court as her handmaid, but that would never happen now. Also there were Lord Kevan's two remaining sons, Ser Willem and Ser Martyn, or the golden twins as she had heard her handmaids call them. Yes, they were handsome, but all Lannisters were handsome, and she of all people knew not to rely on looks. Beside them sat their new brides. Lord Davos had told her that they had married only two days before coming to court for the trials, and that the marriages had helped to secure the Westerlands. She didn't understand the ins and outs of the problems in the West, but she knew that Lord Lefford had refused to kneel to Lord Kevan, and many others had followed his lead. Ser Willem's marriage to Alyssa Brax had been prudent, Davos had said, as three of Lord Brax's four sons had chosen Kevan over Tywin while Tywin was still alive, and the family remained key to Kevan's rule. Ser Martyn's marriage to Cerissa Jast had been something different, he had said. Cerissa was the daughter of Old Lord Antario Jast's son and heir. As his lordship had no other children, and his son Ser Corlos had died in the war, Cerissa was now the heir to the Jast's castle. When she had asked if that meant that House Jast would become another House Lannister when Cerissa's grandfather died, Davos had told her that there was an unwritten political decency that any children from the marriage would, as Lord Jast's heirs, take his surname, whether he was alive at their birth or not. So no, he had said, House Jast would not die out. Most likely, Martyn would also change his name to Jast upon his wife's inheritance to keep the name alive, he also said that it was probably a condition of the marriage's approval, just as how she would remain a Baratheon once she sat the throne. She wondered if Rickon would then become a Baratheon, but she doubted he'd want to give up his name, he was proud of being a Stark, and she was proud of him.

When the fighters entered the arena, it was hard to tell them apart. Ser Harlan was of course in the white armour of the Kingsguard, but so was Ser Mandon. She leaned back and asked Ser Albar Royce, who was seated directly behind her.

"It's the only armour Ser Mandon has with him, Princess. Cersei demanded that he wear Lannister red, but Lord Kevan wouldn't have it."

"Oh, thank you." That explained that then.

It didn't help that the men were of roughly the same height and build, but Ser Harlan's long brown hair was easily visible under his helmet, while Ser Mandon's black hair was hidden. She made a note to use that as a method of determining who was who.

When Lord Rykker raised his hammer, the watching crowd went silent.

"This trial by combat is to decide upon the guilt or innocence of Cersei Lannister, Queen of the late King Robert Baratheon. Each champion has been selected for his skill and his honour. The fight shall be to the death. May the Father grant his judgement to this contest, may the Crone shine her lantern and perceive the guilty party through her wisdom, may the Warrior grant strength to their sword-arms, may the skill of the Smith guide their strikes true, may the Stranger. Begin!"

He brought his hammer down and slammed it into a huge gong at his side. The clang served as the signal to begin. Ser Harlan hefted his shield and ran forwards. Ser Mandon braced himself to receive the charge. The impact drove him back a few steps, but not enough for Harlan to gain any obvious advantage. They clashed again, this time with swords rather than shields. In the scuffle, one of them had clearly cut the other, for blood was beginning to show on the ground. Harlan appeared to be gaining the upper hand. Pulling back slightly, he slammed his mailed fist into Ser Mandon's helmeted head. As his opponent backed off, he brought his sword down on the back of Mandon's shield. The knight's fingers lost their grip and the shield fell from them. Mandon backed off again, out of sword range. Harlan took the chance to kick the shield out of the arena, then cast his own down too. A cheer for his chivalry swelled in the onlooking crowd. _This is how a true knight behaves, a true Kingsguard. _

Grasping his blade in both hands, Ser Mandon returned to the fight. He moved seamlessly, changing feint to parry with a flick of his wrist. Harlan's style was wilder, more brutal, relying on his strength, but he managed to turn away each of Mandon's blows. And so it continued, neither of them able to gain the upper hand, until they broke apart again, and Harlan's limp became evident. Shireen had seen enough duels to know that all Mandon had to do now was wait the fight out, until Harlan was too weak to defend himself. Hunter obviously knew he was on a timer too, as he renewed his attack with ferocity unlike any she had ever seen. He unleashed a flurry of blows, the last catching on Ser Mandon's helmet and tearing it off.

A timeout was agreed upon, with squires running up to give the two combatants whatever they needed. Shireen saw a maester bind Ser Harlan's knee tight with a bandage. No medical care was allowed, but this was deemed arbitrary enough to be allowed. She could see Cersei watching from the other side, and berating Mandon to finish the job. Her champion's ear was bleeding, presumably from the wrenching of his helm as it came off. She briefly looked around for Joffrey, but couldn't see him. Her father had obviously decided that he didn't need to see his mother's fate decided.

When the two knights rose to return to the fight, Ser Mandon waved away his helmet. Harlan saw this and removed his helm. _Chivalry will get him killed. _They clashed again, both of them now flagging. Ser Harlan clearly favoured his uninjured leg and Mandon bleeding profusely from his ear, despite the rough bandaging. She missed how it happened, but she saw Ser Harlan shoulder-barge Ser Mandon in the chest. Cersei's white knight hit the ground, and did not rise. Ser Harlan began to limp back to his seat, helped by two of his sworn brothers who ran out to him.

Lord Rykker strode forward, and after a cursory examination, announced, "He's unconscious, Your Grace. There is no rule for unconsciousness." the man looked lost, and more than a little confused.

Shireen saw Lord Caron stand from his seat in the stalls, "The five judges must decide whether the fight continues or not."

After a brief discussion, her father stepped forward. "We have decided that, as Ser Mandon is clearly unable to continue the fight, he has lost. Cersei Lannister, you are found guilty and are sentenced to death."

As Cersei screamed and shouted about how she was 'a lioness', a 'Lannister' and 'your rightful Queen', but her guards removed her none the less. Lord Royce then stepped forward, "We have decided that, according to his wishes, the executions of Cersei Lannister and her son Joffrey shall be carried out by Lord Robb Stark, as justice for his father's murder."

This announcement was met with cheers from the Northerners in the crowd. Rickon leaped to his feet and howled in victory, as if he had defeated Ser Mandon, not Ser Harlan.

Lord Rykker's raised hammer again quietened the onlookers. "Your Grace, what of Ser Mandon? It was to be a match to the death, but he is alive."

"Have him taken to a maester. He fought well, and is lucky to be alive. He shall live. Once he is recovered he will be free to go where he will, but he is dismissed from the Kingsguard, as is his colleague Ser Boros. Ser Triston, see that their entries in the White Book are filled in, note that they chose a false king, but make sure Ser Mandon's loyalty and courage, even to the end, are noted."

"As you command, your grace."

Ser Harlan stood up, "Your Grace, I request that you allow me the honour of Ser Mandon's vigil."

"The man is not dead, Ser Harlan."

"No Your Grace, but he is injured, and although he was Kingsguard to a false king, he was also Kingsguard to your brother King Robert. He is my brother, in bond rather than blood, and I would stand the watch, as is tradition."

"Your chivalry is a credit to you and to your house Ser Harlan. Have your wounds seen to."

* * *

She sat beside her father in the Throne Room as he made the announcement to the court.

"My lords and ladies, the time has come. The Queen is pregnant." Once the cheers had died down, he continued, "Whether this child is a boy or a girl, does not matter. They shall be the heir to Storm's End only. The Iron Throne shall pass, upon my death, to my daughter the Princess Shireen of the House Baratheon. Queen Lara and her family have agreed to this condition of inheritance, and I call upon you all now, to bear witness to the official naming of my heir, the Princess Shireen."

As one, the court knelt. She looked out over their heads, great lords and ladies, renowned knights and regular guardsmen. Swanns, Royces, Lannisters, Rykkers, Velaryons, Rosbys, Stokeworths and more. She looked out over them and reached out to her side. She felt a hard hand take hers. Turning, she saw her father, beaming. He guided her forward, and with a slight lift, sat her on the Iron Throne. As he moved away, the chanting began. In her short life, she had never expected anyone to like her, and now there were hundreds of them shouting her name. The Iron Throne was uncomfortable though, so she stood again. Then she was further surprised by her father bringing another person up to the dais to join her. As he placed Rickon at her side, Stannis Baratheon, leaned in and whispered,

"I give my blessing. Be happy, my daughter." There were tears in his eyes, but he smiled. She grabbed hold of her father, and held him. When he hugged her back, for the first time he seemed neither uncomfortable or reluctant. He hugged her and he held her tight.

She cried. In front of them all, she cried.


	68. Chapter 68: Tyrion IV

_NOTE - Another longer one, and back in Essos. Enjoy  
_

_Tyrion_

The ride to the town of Volon Therys was relatively short, but it hurt Tyrion Lannister all the same. He was not built for riding without his special saddle, but he supposed he'd better get used to it. He and Prince Oberyn followed Varys through the town to the chaotic riverfront. There they dismounted and walked. They passed all sorts of boats, from Volantene pleasure yachts to Rhoynar fishing vessels. They continued down the front, until Varys stopped before a ramshackle, single-masted poleboat. Her paint was peeling and her lanteen sail was slightly torn. Her nameplate called her _The Shy Maid._ _A well suited name_,Tyrion thought, _if I were a maid and looked this bad, I would be shy too._

A Rhoynar man climbed off the boat, "Griff is below."

"Yandry, you and Ysilla have my thanks," The Spider handed him a large bag, which clinked as the man took it, "Your sacrifices shall not be forgotten. Come, my friends."

They climbed aboard and walked along the deck and down the steps into the hold. There, lit by a small cluster of candles, were four men. Two stood and two were seated at a table. One of the two standing men was clearly a knight. Varys took up a chair, as did Tyrion, while Oberyn stood, his hand not far from his sword.

The Spider spoke first, "I believe introductions are in order. Griff, Young Griff, Haldon, Ser Rolly, this is Tyrion of House Lannister, and Prince Oberyn Martell of Dorne."

One of the seated men leaned forward into the light. His skin was leathery and lined around his eyes, his hair a shock of blue, though red showed at the roots.

"First you keep changing your grand plan, Spider, and now you bring us a Lannister? Tywin's spawn no less! Why should he help us?"

Tyrion felt he should defend himself, "Because my father is an unbearable shit. I have spent my life being told I am a disgrace and how I shame his great family. My sister the Queen is worse. I have no mercy for any of them, except maybe my brother, and I encourage you to put all their heads on spikes."

The younger man leaned forward too, "Tell me more." This one's hair was blue too, though was that a tinge of silver at the roots? His eyes were dark, blue? No, purple.

"I'm sure we shall have plenty of time to talk on the road to reclaiming your kingdom, Prince Aegon."

Within an instant, both the knight and the elder blue haired man had drawn swords and leveled them at his throat.

"Well, it looks as if I'm correct, doesn't it? Don't worry yourselves, Varys already told me. Besides, with the silver hair and the purple eyes, I could have figured it out even if he hadn't. He did not, however, tell me about you Lord Connington."

"How in seven hells did you-"

"Irascible, suspicious, the brand of the Golden Company, that and your hair." He was enjoying this, using his mind was what he did best.

"What about my hair?"

"It's red. Showing at the roots, same as Aegon's. You should really dye it more regularly."

The Spider stepped in, "Thank you, Tyrion. Now, Connington, I understand that you do not like my methods, but those are my methods and you'll have to deal with them. The time for secrecy is nearly over though. Tomorrow we must ride for the Golden Company, and Prince Oberyn shall ride to the Longspears."

The Dornishman's response was clear, "Only once I am sure this boy is my nephew. I will not lead my people to war for a mummer's dragon."

Connington did not take this well, "You would abandon your sister's son?"

"Not if he is my sister's son, of which I am not yet sure."

Aegon stood, "Prince Oberyn, how can I prove to you that I am who I say I am?"

"I would have you wash your hair, and then, fight me. Rhaegar was the only man who ever bested me. If you are his son, I will know it when you fight me."

Connington again resisted, "I do not think that wise, my Prince."

"That is Dorne's price, father, and I will gladly pay it. When do we fight, uncle?"

"Once we are away from this town, on the deck."

"Very well then. Ser Rolly, tell Yandry to cast off."

* * *

They stopped in the centre of the Rhonye, well out of sight of Volon Therys. Aegon had dunked his head in the river and a septa had come forward to help him rinse out the dye. The septa, whose name Tyrion learned was Lemore, was a handsome woman, and he did not miss the look of recognition she shared with Prince Oberyn. _A history there, I think._

His hair dried, Aegon had donned a black doublet with the three-headed dragon sewn on the breast. The silver of his hair brought out the purple of his eyes, and his lean, lithe build and good looks made him look a true Targaryen. _What does it matter if he's a fake? He believes it, and so will Westeros. It's enough for me. _Looks alone would not convince the Red Viper though. Oberyn stood as he had since they left the dock, leaning on the rail, hand on sword. He appeared to be staring out over the river to the forests of the far bank.

"Ready." The slight tremor in the boys voice hinted at fear. _Fear is good, especially here. This man could be your best ally or your worst enemy, and either way, the most dangerous man you'll meet boy._

The Viper smiled, "Good." With one smooth movement he drew his curved Dornish blade, turned around and launched an attack. Aegon, evidently surprised by the speed of the onslaught, only just brought his sword up in time. His longsword looked monstrous in comparison to Oberyn's sabre, but the Prince strained to push the Dornish blade away, though whether that was due to the strength of the blade or the Viper, Tyrion would not pretend to know. _Oberyn will make mincemeat out of him. Give up, boy. _

But Aegon would not give in. Angling his blade so that Oberyn's slipped downwards, he twisted and launched his own strike, a powerful blow which could easily have decapitated a lesser man. the Viper of Dorne turned it aside almost lazily, his parry switching seamlessly to a downward swing. Martell obviously knew the length of his sword like the length of his arm, as it sliced down, passing the Prince's guard and cutting through the meticulously sewn doublet from collar to waist, opening it like a coat. As Aegon stepped back, blood oozed from the thin cut his uncle had left down the centre of his chest.

The knight, Ser Rolly, immediately drew his sword and stepped between his Prince and Oberyn. Connington made to intervene, but Aegon waved both his adopted father and his loyal guard away.

"It's one cut, not even a serious one at that. We continue." The fear in his voice was gone, replaced now by steely determination.

Shrugging off his ruined clothing, he struck back, barreling past Ser Rolly at his uncle. Again, Oberyn turned aside the blade with a casual flick of his wrist. This time though, Aegon seemed ready, spinning on his forward foot and carrying the attack forward. His frame, while lanky, was not short of muscle, and the lad appeared to be straining himself to the limit. The muscles stood out on his arms and torso as Oberyn flicked aside another strike. It was obvious, even to Tyrion, that the Viper was toying with the boy, but Aegon's attacks were not mindless violence, but well-thought out and flowing. Tyrion would still have backed Aegon over a lesser man than Oberyn Martell.

The fight, such as it was, came to an end as Oberyn darted around to the left, ducked under Aegon's swing and, drawing his dirk, held it to the Prince's throat. When Aegon dropped his blade, Oberyn backed away, and knelt.

"My King."

The boy looked confused, "But, you beat me."

"I did, but you fight like a man born to it, you did not give up and let your man protect you once you were bloodied, you knew that you must continue, so you did."

"You weren't testing whether I was a Targaryen, you were testing me as a person."

"Yes. I knew who you were as soon as I saw your hair and eyes, but my brother is ever cautious. Prince Doran made it clear that I must judge you, for he would not throw his people into a war for another Mad King. You have the Targaryen fire, but are no coward, like Aerys was. You knew you must prove yourself, and did your best to do so, rather than look down on me in arrogance and refuse because it was beneath you, like Aerys would have. You understand that you must earn your support, and you proved that to me today. On behalf of my brother, and all of Dorne, I name you our King, Aegon, the Sixth of his Name."

"Rise, Prince Oberyn, your support is most welcome. I would have your advice, what should we do now?"

"You must ride to the Golden Company, and gain their support. I shall ride to Valysar, where my Longspears await me."

Connington interrupted, "Prince Oberyn, who command the Longspears now?"

"My cousin Ser Nymor Martell, who travelled with me in the Free Cities, and was my first lieutenant. They await my coming."

* * *

Tyrion rode beside Young Griff as they approached the Golden Company. Varys had advised that the boys identity remain hidden for now, so the Prince's hair had been re-dyed, as had Connington's, and the two resumed the roles of Griff and his son Young Griff. Ser Rolly, whose surname turned out to be Duckfield, rode behind them, as did Aegon's tutor, an ex-Citadel man called Haldon Halfmaester.

He had taken to Ser Rolly, a man who wore his emotions on his sleeve, which Tyrion was not used to, and who liked to laugh, something Connington was severely lacking. When asked about his surname, Duck simply replied that when he had been knighted, he was in a field full of ducks, so why not? _Why not indeed? _Haldon was a different man, confident but close-lipped. Tyrion would be interested to find out why he had stopped short of becoming a full maester.

As they entered the camp of the Golden Company, they attracted many incredulous stares. Escorted by the guard from the gate, they made a motley party. A young blue-haired boy flanked by a pair of knights, a fat eunuch, a maester and a dwarf. Prince Oberyn had ridden north to fetch the Longspears and Lemore had gone with him. _Wasn't one of the Sand Snakes fathered on a septa? Could it be her? _Their odd company were escorted to the command pavilion. It was surrounded by spear dug into the ground, on top of each a skull dipped in gold, the skull of a Captain-General, ready to take back to Westeros, just as Bittersteel had requested.

_Aegor Rivers was a commander of the calibre we need, so was Myles Toyne, according to my father, but what of this Harry Strickland? _Upon entering the pavilion, they were met by a group of ten men, the captains of the Golden Company. A round man was seated in the centre, behind a heavy wooden desk. Connington approached him.

"Homeless Harry Strickland, I'm back, as promised."

"So you are Connington, though I must say I do not approve of your hair, too Tyroshi."

"Seeing as my disguise is supposed to be Tyroshi, I would say it isn't."

Varys interrupted, "Lord Connington, could we get on?"

"Of course, some of these scoundrels I know, some I don't. Harry, introductions if you will."

The round man rose and began to indicate each of the captains as he named them, "Lysono Maar, Black Balaq, Gorys Edoryen, Franklyn Flowers, Tristan Rivers, Laswell Peake, Jon Lothston, Lorimas Mudd and Denys Strong."

"Thank you. Gentlemen, may I present Aegon, of House Targaryen, the Sixth of his Name."

Jon Lothston burst into laughter, and the others shifted uncomfortably. Connington fumed, "You already told them?"

Strickland pulled an apologetic face, "I am sorry, my lord, but I had to justify our remaining here and rejecting several lucrative employment opportunities. Do not fret, we're behind you, every step of the way. Ten thousand men, five hundred of them knights, one thousand of them archers. Oh and, of course, thrity elephants." He directed this last at Aegon. "Your Grace, we shall fight for you. I myself, and many of those here are the descendants of exiled knights and lords. If you could see fit, in your generosity, to return us to our ancestral homes, we would be most -"

Aegon held up a hand, "We shall discuss this when I sit the Iron Throne. No earlier."

"As your grace wishes, but how are we to cross the Narrow Sea?"

The Spider coughed his irritating cough, "I believe that is where I come in. Our close friend Triarch Nyessos of Volantis has just been re-elected, and thanks to his kindness, we shall be transported by the Volantene fleet once Daenerys joins us."

The meeting closed there. As honoured guests, they were each given a tent, though Tyrion had to share with the Spider. When he couldn't sleep, he walked outside and found Aegon standing by a brazier, looking out over the army that would follow his banner.

"It's a beautiful thing, to see an army and know it will do exactly as you say."

"You've led men into battle?" The Prince seemed incredulous, and quite right too.

"After my own fashion, only a few hundred, but it was beautiful all the same."

"Who were they?"

"Hill tribes for the most part."

"Hill tribes?"

"I'll tell you some other time. Let us discuss something more interesting. Your aunt for instance."

"I've never met her. Connington said that Targaryen's traditionally wed kin, but I will not. He will not tell me why."

"Because she will wed a Tyrell, thus securing the Reach for your cause."

"What if she doesn't want to marry him?"

"Well, then things will get interesting."

"We need her dragons."

"Do we? Robert Baratheon took the Throne without dragons. You could too. Daenerys does not even know you exist yet, not until the Spider's envoys reach her, which won't be for days yet. Then you will wait longer for her to arrive here before you can sail."

"So?"

"Stannis' grip on Westeros is tightening. He faces regional rebellion across the Seven Kingdoms. Act now, and you can use this to your advantage. Wait, and you will face a King with full control of his subject lords."

"But we need Daenerys."

"What do you imagine she will say? Remember that she is a conqueror. Astapor and Yunkai have fallen to her, and Meereen will follow. All her life she has believed that she would be Queen, whether through her brother or in her own right. Why should she give that up to you? Because you have the better claim? She is as much the blood of the dragon as you are. When you meet her, you must also be a conqueror, or forever appear lesser than her, and why should she give up her claim to a green boy? She more likely to give up her claim if you are also a conqueror. Sail for Westeros now, while chaos still reigns, land in the Stormlands and attack the Baratheon heartland."

"Why should I trust this advice?"

"Because I have played this game before, and because I have as much to lose from this as you."

"Which game is that Lord Tyrion?"

"The game we're all playing. You, me, Varys, Connington, Daenerys, Stannis, Doran Martell, my sister, we're all player or pieces in the game. Which game you ask? The game of thrones."


	69. Chapter 69: Brynden V

_NOTE - Just a quick note on the previous chapter. I don't hate Tyrion, but for the sake of the story I needed him to be hate-able. Another Blackfish chapter now though. Enjoy!  
_

_Brynden_

Most of the Riverlanders had returned to their homes. Not so the Blackfish and four thousand men, veterans all. They came from all across the Riverlands; Tully men, Blackwoods, Brackens, Whents, Mallisters, Smallwoods and Vances, sent by their lords to fight and defend the Northerners' home as the Northerners had defended theirs. With Lord Tytos Blackwood as his second, Ser Brynden was confident. Blackwood was a very effective commander, and also brought the largest number of soldiers north. When Brynden asked about why this was, his reply was simple.

"The Blackwoods were northerners once, driven out in the Age of Heroes. We are the blood of the First Men, as is the North, and we alone south of the Neck share their gods. The Northerners are our kin, and I will not have it said that Raventree Hall abandons it's kinsmen."

Blackwood had not only brought more men than any other lord, but he had also given Lord Stark his second son, Lucas, as a member of his guard. There were rumours that Lord Tytos had ambitions north of the Neck, though the content varied. Most said that he aimed to wed his daughter to the son of a Northern lord. Brynden didn't care about Tytos' ambitions though, he was a good man, something which he had found was getting harder and harder to find.

Though the weather was getting colder and the nights longer, it had not yet begun to snow, and this encouraged him. Once it did snow, the march would become difficult, and they had to be past the Neck by then, or be stuck in the fetid swamps. Yet that didn't worry him, they would be before Moat Cailin in two days. The men were eager for Bolton blood, and that made them march all the faster.

He and Lord Tytos were summoned to Lord Stark that night. It had begun to rain, heavily. Once inside the tent, they shook off their cloaks and added them to the growing pile near a brazier. Lord Blackwood grunted as he carefully placed his cloak of raven feathers at the top of the pile. It was a family heirloom, and one he was very proud of. The other men in the tent were similarly sodden, but the looks on their faces were determined. The Greatjon was postulating about the need to attack the Moat from the North, to which Ser Wylis Manderly replied that the only substantial loyal forces in the North were at White Harbour, and would take days to arrive, possibly a week. Cley Cerwyn suggested that his sister Jonelle could raise a few men, but not enough. The new Lord Cerwyn was young and eager to prove himself, and had become one of the Young Wolf's closest friends. The others were also in evidence; Lord Harrion Karstark, who's great uncle Arnolf had sided with the Boltons, Ser Lucas Blackwood, who had succeeded in becoming one of Robb's inner circle and Dacey Mormont, one of Bear Island's warrior women. Other lords included Robett Glover, now Master of Deepwood Motte following his brother's death in the fighting at the Twins, Ser Helman Tallhart, who had finally recovered from the injuries he sustained in the Battle for King's Landing, and Lord Wallace Woolfield, a petty lord sworn to White Harbour. The Lord of Ramsgate, Woolfield had been ill when the army had set out to war nearly two years ago, though he had sent his levies under the command of his son. He had been sent by ship to join the army and inform Robb of Bolton's rule by Lord Manderly.

"Whether we take Moat Cailin or not, my lord, we must needs find more men. Bolton has not only the Dreadfort, but also Barrowton, the Rills, Hornwood and Karhold. On top of this he has some sizeable force of Freys. Winter is no longer coming, it is here, and snow is already three feet deep near the Wall. Once it moves south, we will suffer in the field while Roose Bolton and his bastard sit comfortably in their nice warm stolen castles."

"Where do you suggest we find these men, Lord Woolfield?"

"The Riverlands. The North bled for them, they must bleed for us."

Brynden overrode him, "That's why I'm here, with four thousand men, veterans all."

"Four thousand. The Riverlords can field twenty thousand. Where are the others?"

"Gone home. To collect a final harvest and rebuild, ready for winter."

Robb stopped them, "Enough. We cannot ask the riverlords, they have already been very generous. We must look elsewhere."

"What about the Mountain Clans?" The Greatjon rumbled, "My people have dealings with them often. They loved your father, and will fight for you."

"Many of them are already here, and how do we get a message through to them in time? No, not the clans."

"There is one other option, my lord." Ser Wylis Manderly smiled.

"What is that ser?"

"Skagos."

Helman Tallhart burst out laughing, "Skagos? They're little more than wildlings up there! Wildlings who feast on human flesh."

"They are sworn to Winterfell." Ser Wylis pressed, "Houses Magnar, Stane and Crowl can field near two thousand men between them. They are untouched by this war. Send a party, via White Harbour, to remind them of their oaths."

Robb's face was dark. "Everyone except Lord Umber, Ser Wylis, Ser Brynden and the Blackwoods, wait outside."

Despite the heaving rain, they obediently filed out.

"We have heard Ser Wylis' thoughts on this, what say the rest of you?"

Brynden spoke first, "I don't feel I can say much, my lord, other than that you need men. I don't know the North, I won't pretend to, but you need men. Surely it is worth sending a single knight with a few soldiers and your written request?"

"I would not trust the Skagosi, my lord," Umber rumbled, "Tallhart's right, they are queer beings. Cannibals aye, but rumours of unicorns too, and fouler beasts. They say the North is isolated, but Skagos is worse. I would take my chances without them."

"Then surely it is time they renewed their oaths. I will send an envoy. I do not ask for every man they have, a few hundred from each lord would be welcome."

"Who will you send on this suicide mission?" The Greatjon asked.

"With respect, my lord? I request to go." Lucas Blackwood stepped forward.

Lord Tytos looked at his son with amazement, "Are you mad boy? I hope you realise that if you die, your mother will have my head!"

"This is something I have to do father."

"Why?"

"Because. I am the second of six sons. I must find my own way. I will not sit around under my brother Brynden's rule, that's not me. Let me do this father."

"What if Brynden dies? You will be my heir."

"No I won't. Hos will. Raventree isn't me father. I'm sorry."

Lord Tytos' eyes welled, "Very well. Go with my blessing, my son. Take twenty of my men though, you shall not go unprotected."

Robb smiled, "Then you shall go Lucas. I will give you twenty of my men also. Ride at dawn to Lord Woolfield's ship, go to White Harbour. Once you are supplied, sail north to Skagos. Seek out the lords of Kingshouse, Driftwood Hall and Deepdown. Bring them to Karhold, and subdue it. Then march south on the Kingsroad to Winterfell. If you succeed, I shall give you lands, a holdfast and a lordship."

"As you command, my lord. You honour me."

"House Blackwood honours me with it's continued loyalty, even though I am no longer your king."

"We were of the North once. Kin do not abandon kin."

As his son left, Lord Tytos Blackwood clasped his shoulder, "Go my son, bring House Blackwood home."

* * *

The day they reached Moat Cailin, the snow began. It was decided that they would storm the towers in turn, under the cover of the wooden canopy they had brought up from the Twins. Despite the ruined castle's reputation, it was not difficult. As they had with the Ironborn, the crannogmen had kept the Bolton's busy with raids and hit-and-run attacks. The remaining living men of the garrison were diseased and hardly capable of fighting. It was out of mercy that Robb gave the order to kill them all and have their bodies flung into the marshes. Mercy for his own men, who did not need too contract all sorts of disgusting infections in addition to what looked to become a hard march through the snow.

The snow did not stop that day, or the next. At first it was a light flurry, but by nightfall it had whipped up into a blizzard. When Brynden left his tent on the morning of the second day from Moat Cailin, the camp was buried under nearly a foot of snow. _Winter has come._ He pulled on his thick gloves and heavy cloak and set out to find Robb. The Riverlanders would be sorely tested on this march, unaccustomed as they were to campaigning in this weather. To that end, Edmure had insisted that each man be given a heavy cloak and pair of gloves, something which, right now, the men would be grateful for. Edmure was eager and acted before he thought, but his heart was in the right place.

As he trudged towards the command tent, he saw his niece ordering a pair of men about as they tried to load a wagon with her belongings. He chuckled as he realised that, in all her time in the North, Cat had not changed, she was still the mistress of all she surveyed. Once they reached Castle Cerwyn, she and her daughter would remain there until the fighting was done. Arya had protested at this, but Robb had sided with his mother, and even Brynden had agreed. Fighting a winter campaign in the North was not the same as capturing the Twins.

"Blackfish!" The Greatjon called to him as he walked. "Bolton's got word of our approach, he sent his bastard to flush us out."

"How many men?"

"Not enough! Winterfell, here we come!" The huge man guffawed as he stomped off to prepare his own men to march.

When Brynden reached Robb's command tent, he found Lord Stark questioning a sergeant in Hornwood colours. This was odd, Ramsay Snow was now Lord of the Hornwood, in practice if not in law. Word of how he forcibly married Lady Donella Hornwood after her husband and son died in the war, and then left her to starve, had drifted south. How the succession to Hornwood would be resolved after the bastard was dead was a matter of much discussion, though the favourite seemed to be Larence Snow, the late Lord Halys' bastard son, fostered at Deepwood Motte.

He listened to the conversation in silence.

"How many men can the Bastard field?"

"Three thousand, old men and weaklings all. Lord Roose sent us on a suicide mission, and Ramsay knows it. His father wants himout the way now his fat Frey wife is pregnant."

"Where will they come at us from?"

"Come at you? No, Ramsay marches for the Dreadfort. His loyalty to his father is limited to what serves his interests best. I don't know what he plans to do from there, but he makes for the Dreadfort."

"How did you escape?"

"Not an escape, my lord. Sent. By the men. House Hornwood is loyal to Stark, not Bolton. We followed Ramsay because we had to, but he is not our lord, we do not want him. I was sent to warn you my lord, Bolton has split his forces. Arnolf Karstark has written to you hasn't he?"

"He has. Declaring that he is repentant. He has witnessed Bolton's cruelty firsthand, in the form of the flayed bodies of Ser Rodrik Cassel and Mors Umber, and he will not support such a man as Warden of the North. He also apologises for declaring House Karstark for Bolton without his lord's position, as he was informed that Harrion was dead."

"Karstark and his men will join you, but he will betray you. As soon as you face Bolton's men in battle, he will turn on you. Betting is, once Karstark turns, the Bastard's men will hit your rear."

"How do you know this?"

"I heard his grandsons boasting of it round the fire, my lord."

Robb turned to him, "Uncle Brynden, ready the men. We march for Winterfell. When Arnolf and his men arrive, I want them quietly arrested and brought to me when we make camp. Do not kill their men, add them to Lord Harrion's command."

"Yes, my lord."


	70. Chapter 70: Andrew III

_NOTE - The adventures in Essos continue. Enjoy!  
_

_Andrew_

The _Selaesori Qhoran _limped into Meereen's harbour. It had taken the few remaining crew twice as long to sail up the Skahazadhan, against the current, as it should, with every man helping at the oars, including Moqorro. The life of a priest had obviously not weakened him, as he took one of the great oars by himself, the weight of which normally requiring the efforts of two men.

Once ashore, Andrew, Loras, Edric and Moqorro made their way to the Queen, following the directions to the Great Pyramid, given them by the dockmaster. The man had also told them that Yunkai had declared war, and was hiring sellswords to supplement it's own slave armies, and legions from New Ghis. This was worrying. Convincing Daenerys to leave would be difficult without this threat to 'her city', but with it, it would require a lot of persuasion.

They agreed that when they arrived at her court, the priest would petition her first, then the three Westerosi. Andrew was nervous, but Edric was excited. He was going to see dragons, or so he thought. _If she decides she doesn't want us, we'll never get near the beasts. _Loras was different to the others, his face unreadable. Andrew did feel sorry for him. He was being sent against his will to marry a woman he'd never met on the far side of the world. True, she was purportedly the most beautiful woman in the world, but what good was that to Loras? The one man on earth who wouldn't appreciate her beauty, was the one the Tyrells had sent. Still, at least he was good-looking and whole, and a reputed knight. Better than sending crippled Willas.

They entered the Great Pyramid, and were directed to the Audience Chamber, and told to wait until the seneschal called upon them to make their petition. The four of them stood through six petty complaints about theft, and one about a man found keeping slaves in a chamber under his house, before Moqorro decided they had waited long enough. When the Queen gave her judgement from her bench high above the crowds, so far away that Andrew could only really see her outline, and not at all her face. The seneschal, an oily, fleshy man, called forward another man, but Moqorro stepped forward instead. Shouting over the ensuing commotion, he raised his hands and spoke,

"Queen Daenerys Targaryen, Mother of Dragons. I am sent to you from Volantis, by Benerro, the High Priest of the Lord of Light. I am Moqorro."

"You are sent to me?" Her voice sounded small, but authority rang from it.

"To serve you and to help you in your battles to come. You are the Mother of Dragons, and dragons are fire made flesh. Fire is the tool of Rhllor."

"Are you saying I am the tool of your red god?"

"No, I say that you are his chosen Queen. To rule Westeros and to fight the Great Other."

"The Great Other?"

"He who raises the dead, the harbinger of the Endless Night."

"You come to me peddling rumours."

"No I do not. You are the lord's chosen, behold his power." The priest raised his arms above his head, the torches along the walls flared, a great column of flame sprouted from the floor and formed in the shape of a dragon, which roared and then dissipated. Both of the knights at the Queen's side had draw their swords, and thrown themselves in front of her. Once the flames were gone, a group of Unsullied ran forward to seize the priest.

"Wait!" The Queen's voice rang out over the chamber, "Bring him to my chamber, I would speak with him."

The Unsullied bowed and escorted the priest away. As Daenerys made to leave as well, Andrew knew this was his last chance.

"Your Grace, wait!" As he moved forward, he was grateful that Loras and Edric followed him.

"Who are you?" Her tone was imperious.

He knelt, "Ser Andrew Estermont, at your service, my Queen. These are my companions, Edric Storm, and Ser Loras of House Tyrell."

"You are from Westeros? How did you get here?"

"By ship from Volantis, with the red priest."

She looked down at them, "Bring them too. Court is finished, clear the room."

* * *

The Unsullied took them high in the Pyramid, right to the highest level, where the Queen's apartments were. Apparently she had decided to see them before the priest, and for that Andrew was grateful. He didn't trust Moqorro one bit. They were instructed to sit, and then they waited.

When Daenerys Targaryen graced them with her presence, he understood the rumours. _The most beautiful woman in the world. _The Targaryen features were strong in her, silver hairs and violet eyes. There was no other word for her but stunning. He felt Edric shuffle nervously at his side.

"Your Grace, we thank you for this private audience."

"It is I who must thank you. People from my homeland are so rare in Meereen. Only Ser Barristan and Ser Jorah in the whole city. I hope you can tell me of Westeros?"

"Much, your grace." Loras took over, "As of our departure, Stannis Baratheon sits the Iron Throne, but he faces rebellion in the North, the Riverlands, the Iron Islands and the Stormlands."

Ser Barristan cut across him, "Why are you here sers? House Tyrell declared for Renly Baratheon, and Estermont for Stannis. Why are you here? Why have you brought Robert Baratheon's bastard son?"

Fire flashed in the Queen's eyes. "The Usurper's bastard?"

Edric knelt, "Yes, your grace, but we do not choose our fathers."

Andrew tried to rescue the situation, "Yes, we fought for Renly and Stannis, but Ser Barristan guarded Robert for sixteen years, and Ser Jorah fought against your brother at the Trident and was knighted by Baratheon himself. None of us were innocent, but we did what we thought was best. You cannot punish us for that."

"Do not presume to tell me what I can and cannot do ser. Why are you here?"

"We sought you out for different reasons, but were brought together in Volantis, by Varys."

Jorah Mormont growled, "The Spider. He's not trustworthy."

"Varys is working with Illyrio Mopatis, and has been for a very long time."

She narrowed her eyes, "Go on."

"I was charged to protect Edric, and we came because we heard of your dragons, and wanted to see them for ourselves. Ser Loras came for an entirely different reason."

"Which was?"

"The fulfillment of an agreement between Houses Tyrell, Martell and Targaryen. As part of the pact, Loras' sister will marry Quentyn Martell, Loras was to marry you, and Arianne Martell would wed your nephew."

"You think you can just show up here and demand my hand in marriage? Wait...my nephew?"

"Aegon, the Sixth of his Name. Stolen out of the Red Keep by Varys when the Lannisters came to the city, raised in exile, son of Rhaegar and Elia of Dorne. He awaits you with the Golden Company not far from Volon Therys. That is why we are here, your grace. To bring you to him, and to bring you home."

"I don't understand. I must discuss this with my council, I want the two of you there," she gestured to Andrew and Loras, "As for you, bastard, I see no reason for you to live. The Usurper hunted and killed my kin, why should I not kill his?"

Andrew threw himself in front of the boy, hand on sword, "You will not touch him. Not while I have breath in my body."

Her knights moved forward, but she waved them back. "He wants to see dragons does he? I shall show him dragons. Come."

Escorted by Unsullied, Daenerys and her knights led the three of them down, deep into the bowels of the pyramid, to what they called 'The Dragonpit'. There, they saw the beasts. One, cream in colour, slept, curled up against the wall. The other, green, watched them enter, and shook himself awake, crawling forward.

"Rhaegal wakes," The fire in her eyes had returned, "You have seen the dragons, bastard, are you content?"

"Yes, your grace." To his credit, the lad did not quail, but stood upright and steel-jawed. His father would have been proud.

"Maybe a little closer?"

"As you wish, your grace."

She turned to her Unsullied, "Throw him in."

"No!" Andrew shouted, drawing his blade, but before he could stop them, one of the Unsullied slammed him to the ground. As he struggled, they held him on his knees.

"He brought traitor's blood to me. Make him watch." Daenerys' voice was cold.

Edric did not resist, but calmly allowed the Unsullied to escort him down to the pit's mouth. Once there, they unbarred the huge gate, and threw him in. The Queen smiled. Ser Barristan leaned in, "Your grace, I do not think -"

"Thank you Ser Barristan." The old knight stepped back, silenced.

Edric advanced into the pit. "Give him a sword, for pity's sake. He always wanted to be a knight, let him die as one. Please!" Andrew begged. Not waiting for a response, Ser Jorah took Andrew's sword and threw it into the pit. It landed at Edric's feet, and he slowly bent and picked it up. Andrew felt tears well in his eyes. Looking to his side, he saw Loras similarly disarmed and pinned.

Then came the roar. The green dragon crawled towards Edric, his maw gaping. Flame burst from his jaws, yellow-orange and laced with green. Edric did not move. He looked so small, but standing there defiant, it was hard to remember that he was only fifteen. He began to walk forwards, towards Rhaegal's smoking mouth. He reached out his free hand, holding the sword down at his side.

Ser Jorah's mouth hung open, "What is he doing?"

Rhaegal growled. He held out his snout and a coil of smoke rose from his nostrils. He opened his mouth.

"No." Edric's voice was loud and forceful, but calm. Rhaegal stopped. The green dragon did not move as Edric walked up to him, and placed his outstretched hand on the beasts head, between the eyes. The pit was filled with a deep humming noise. It reverberated around the pit, like nothing Andrew had ever heard.

Still on his knees, Andrew looked to the Queen. The shock in her face was clear. "How is this possible?"

"Your knowledge of your own family should tell you that." Loras replied, "Lord Ormund Baratheon wed Rhaelle Targaryen, Ormund's son was Lord Steffon, Steffon's eldest son was King Robert Baratheon, First of his Name."

"He has the blood of the dragon." She gasped.

Ser Barristan smiled, "Not much more than a drop, but apparently, a drop is enough."

Edric was now sitting beside Rhaegal, stroking his scales. When he rose, the dragon rose too.

Ser Jorah shouted to the Unsullied, "Open the pit, let him out!"

Daenerys took longer to recover. "I am sorry, Ser Andrew, I don't know what came over me." She turned to the Unsullied, "Let them go. Sers, my council meets tomorrow at sundown. Make sure all three of you are there. Until then you are free to come and go as you wish through the pyramid. Ser Barristan, see that they are given suitable apartments. Ser Jorah, with me."

* * *

Ser Barristan Selmy had shown them to their apartments, which were extensive. A suite of rooms with three bedrooms and a shared living area. They did not leave there until the guard arrived to take them to the council.

As they took seats around the table, Andrew made a note of the faces. Daenerys herself, Ser Barristan, Ser Jorah, the perfumed seneschal whom she introduced as Reznak mo Reznak, another Meereenese nobleman called Hizdahr zo Loraq, two Dothraki named Rakharo and Aggo, the Unsullied commander, a man behind a brazen mask, who was introduced merely as 'The Shavepate', and a sellsword captain named Daario Naharis.

"Sers, I wish to again apologise for my actions in the dragonpit."

Andrew grunted, he didn't trust her. Loras smiled, and Edric spoke, "Thank you your grace. I always wanted to touch a dragon."

"I have never seen my dragons react to anyone that way."

"I don't know what I did."

"It must be his blood," said Ser Barristan, "Could he ride Rhaegal?"

"I think so, it's only one small step. The question is, how do we find out?"

Mormont supplied the answer, "We must let them out of the pit."

"I dare not. I will not have another child's bones brought before me."

"You wouldn't. Not if you sailed for Westeros, my Queen."

"And leave Meereen in chaos? As soon as I leave, the Yunkai'i will return slavery."

"A price we must pay."

"In the blood of slaves."

The Unsullied spoke, "These ones were slaves once, but the Mother of Dragons freed us. Some of the freed ones formed companies which this one is training. If the other freed ones would not be slaves, let them join these ones in the companies."

The seneschal spoke, "You would abandon us to die, Your Radiance? Once the city falls, the Yunkai'i will slaughter those who helped you!"

"And good riddance." Naharis smiled, his golden mustachios turning upwards.

"Enough Daario." Daenerys said, firmly but gently. "It is clear that I must return home. The question is the manner of that return."

Reznak resumed his plea, "Your Magnificence, please! We shall all die without you!"

She had had enough, "Reznak, Shavepate, Hizdahr, out." Once the Meereenese had left she turned to the remaining men. "I will return to Westeros. I do not have the ships to take my army over the sea, so it shall be by land. We march to Volantis in a weeks time. Tell me Ser Loras, who does this coalition of yours intend to crown?"

"Prince Aegon, your grace."

"What?"

"He has the better claim."

As her fury rose, Ser Barristan stepped in, "Maybe it would be best to wait until you join Aegon's forces, my Queen. Then a fair decision can be made."

"Yes. Yes, we shall wait until I meet him."

"Will you marry him, Your Grace?" Loras asked.

"No. I was raised knowing I would have to marry my brother Viserys, but he sold me to Khal Drogo. I will not marry of my kin." Her face was unclear, but Andrew was sure that there was something else that she was hiding. _What could she be hiding? Why would marrying Aegon be bad for her family? Could she be barren? _

Loras knelt at Daenerys' side, "Then, I request that you do me the honour of marrying me."

Naharis stood, "Daenerys, you cannot marry this man, he has only just arrived."

Jorah stepped between them, "You are too familiar Naharis."

"I will open this knight, from balls to throat."

"You are welcome to try, captain."

"Enough! Daario, if you cannot control yourself, leave." The sellsword stalked out.

"Your Grace, I know it is not my place, but the time may have come to relieve Naharis of his command." Selmy's voice was calm.

"It is not your place," she scalded him, "Ser Andrew, you and Edric will join my household. I need knights."

"With your permission Your Grace, Edric is not a knight."

"That can be changed. Ser Barristan can knight him. Now."

Edric spoke up, "If it please your grace, and no offence to Ser Barristan, but I should prefer to be knighted by Ser Andrew."

"Very well then, in your own time. Let it be known that Ser Edric Storm has full access to the Dragonpit."

"What about Viserion?" Jorah asked.

"Viserion will not attack Rhaegal. They may be dragons but they are brothers. Ser Edric is also to have his pick of our armoury. I will not have a dragon rider in my service go unprotected."

"As you command my Queen."

"I do." The Queen mused, "Tell me Ser Loras, are you a man of honour?"

"Yes, your grace."

"Tell me true. Do you want to marry me?"

"I didn't. Ser Barristan may well have told you that my...preferences were for men. He is right, but I look at you and I know that I will do anything I can to bring you home. My family have charged me with this. If you marry me, when you return to Westeros, the men of the Reach shall march beside you. Eighty thousand men."

Selmy spoke up again, "Your Grace, while Ser Loras's father is Lord Tyrell, it is widely known that his mother, Lady Olenna, rules Highgarden. She is a stickler for a bargain once struck, if you snub her, she will oppose you to her dying breath."

Daenerys smiled, "Eighty thousand you say? It looks like I have a wedding to plan ser."


	71. Chapter 71: Kevan X

_NOTE - Many thanks to those who leave positive and/or constructive reviews, but I have recently received a few which are less so. These are left by 'guests', which in my mind reads 'I don't respect you enough to criticise you to your face'. Some Guest reviewers leave a name, some do not, and curiously only the nameless have been anything but supportive. Due to the tone of these reviews, they seem to be written by the same few people everytime, and to them I say that if you think my writing to be un-ASOIAF or twisting characters or "utter shite", "not worth the effort to read" or even, as one today said, "just plain fucking stupid", then don't read it! The point of this site is to encourage those who want to put their work up for scrutiny, not shit on them. Some will say that anyone who publishes work is open to criticism, and I agree that criticism is essential. However, this criticism should be constructive, not destructive. So, those people who are too cowardly to leave their names (or even fake names or usernames!), I invite them to keep their trolling and unkind comments to tasks which are obviously better suited their intellectual level, such as abusive comments on Youtube cat videos and selfie-fails, and to show the people who publish their work more respect. Those people who publish on this site do not claim to be professionals, just people who want to share what they've done and worked hard on, so please show some common courtesy, and follow what my friend calls Rule Number 1 - Don't be a dick.  
_

_Rant over. My thanks again to those who leave kind and helpful comments/criticism and those who PM me requests and suggestions, all are welcome. This chapter returns to King's Landing. Enjoy!_

_Kevan_

He sat in the King's solar, awaiting His Grace's return. King Stannis had invited him there to make plans and to consolidate their gains. Kevan, however, was eager to return home. He wanted what many lords wanted, to disband the armies and go home, bring in the last harvest and prepare for winter. He was old, and had seen many winters, but knew this one would be longer and harder than the rest, he could feel it in his bones. Old bones they were too, he would be fifty-five on his next nameday, making him the eldest member of what men were already calling 'The Smallest Council'. Lord Seaworth was approaching fifty he knew, but the King was only thirty-three. As he waited, he recalled the brief meeting the three men had had to finalise the limits of the authorities of the new posts.

Kevan, as Master of War, would have total command of the war effort, all across Westeros, both in commanding them and in administration. Below him would be the four Wardens, of the North, West, South and East, and the Master of Ships. His wardens at the moment were Lord Robb Stark in the North, who had proved his mettle in the war, Lord Yohn Royce in the East, who had left the capital following the trials, and taken his men home with him, and himself in the West. The Warden of the South had yet to be decided upon, as neither the Tyrells or the Martells had sworn allegiance to King Stannis, or dimissed their armies. The same applied to the Master of Ships, though Lord Seaworth had basically taken this role with his command of the massed fleets. Luckily for Kevan, this title only carried duties in times of war.

Davos' duties were different, or would be, when he returned from the war. As Hand of the King, his realm was the non-military matters; upholding laws, settling disputes and balancing the books, in addition to this, his role was full-time. Kevan did not envy him. The Masters of Coin and Laws answered to him, posts held by Lord Velaryon and, now Lord Celtigar had sailed south, Lord Rykker. With Davos gone though, the King himself had assumed his duties.

Stannis finally returned to the solar, "My apologies my lord, the Queen is not well."

"Please pass on my sympathies, is it serious?"

"Grand Maester Gormon says not. Apparently this 'morning sickness' is common, especially in first-time mothers, though I do not remember Selyse having it."

Grand Maester Gormon was Citadel's choice to replace Pycelle. Though it had been Tyrion who had first removed him, Stannis had no will to restore him, but had at least taken the old man out of the black cells and given him comfortable chambers. His heart had given out not long after the Royal Wedding, and Gormon had arrived to take his place, and his seat on the Small Council. Originally, there had been suspicions about the man, as there was of any man whose family name was Tyrell. Gormon was Lord Mace's uncle, but since his arrival he had been shown to embody the maester's laws on giving up allegiance to their House. Kevan mulled over the King's news before replying,

"My lady wife did. With each of our children. But Dorna was never strong. We were advised by our maester to wait until she was older, stronger before having children. So I was older than your grace when Lancel arrived, forty for the twins and fifty-two when Janei arrived. Dorna wanted more children, but Maester Creylen said it would be most unwise. The Queen is a Swann, and the Swanns are strong. I am sure she will be fine."

"Thank you for your concern. We must now turn to the state of the realm. What of the Riverlands?"

"Lord Tully assures me that his lands are at peace. He has men hunting down renegade soldiers and outlaws as we speak. The smallfolk are desperately trying to gather one final harvest, but it is growing too cold. Many will starve when winter comes."

"What of the rebellious houses?"

"House Frey was all but destroyed by Lord Stark's assault. Lord Stevron has adopted his younger half-brother Ser Olyvar as his son and heir, Lord Stark's former squire. The Freys vassal houses are similarly subdued. The others, Darry, Ryger and the rest have been accepted back into your peace."

"I received an appeal from Lord Darry today. With the cancellation of the crown's debt to him following his rebellion, he has been forced into financial bankruptcy. He claims he cannot feed his family, or rebuild. What is your opinion?"

"You could advance him the money from the royal treasury, and take one of his children as a hostage of good payment. It would bind him to you and also ensure that the child is fed. If the treasury cannot foot the payment, I would be glad to lend you some of the wealth of my House."

"I shall see Velaryon about the finances, but you have my thanks for the offer. What other news?"

"Lord Stark has taken Moat Cailin and marches for Winterfell. The Blackfish and Lord Blackwood have joined him with four thousand Riverlanders. Lord Stark has dispatched Blackwood's second son on a sensitive diplomatic mission, and requests that you add your seal to the reward?"

"What mission? What reward?"

Kevan picked up the raven scroll that had brought the news, "The mission is to the island of Skagos, to bring the Skagosi to war against the Boltons, and to return them to Stark rule. Lord Stark asks your approval for Ser Lucas Blackwood, upon his success, to be made Lord Lucas Blackwood, and be given the castle of Ironrath in the wolfswood, a seat formerly belonging to House Forrester, who have sided with Roose Bolton. There are modest lands attached to the castle."

"It seems fair. As long as Stark obeys my laws and keeps my peace he can have as much independence as his father did under my brother. I see no reason to cause problems by my interference. The North likes to keep to it's own devices."

"I shall send the word. On the matters of the south, Prince Doran Martell's armies remain massed at Yronwood, ready to march up the Boneway, while Mace Tyrell's army sits outside Highgarden. Neither of them have replied to my ravens. They appear to be waiting for something."

"Let them wait. Winter is coming, and even in the Reach it gets too cold to keep an army in the field when the snows fall. Anything else?"

"One more matter, Your Grace. I still face rebellion in my own lands. Daven writes to me that Lord Lefford has amassed a sizeable force and is marching on castles that have declared their loyalty to me. Although the Hound has had some success in skirmishes with their advance forces, he lacks the men to attack the main force, and now Castle Jast has been beseiged. My son Martyn recently wed Lord Jast's granddaughter and heir, I must respond. I request your leave to ride for the Westerlands immediately."

"Very well, you may leave tomorrow."

"Your Grace, I had hoped I might leave today."

"I would let you, but I want you here for the executions. You were one of the judges who tried Sers Axell and Imry, I wish you to be present, especially now Bronze Yohn has returned home."

"As you wish Your Grace."

* * *

The executions were not pretty. King Robert's headsman, Ser Ilyn Payne, had been killed in the Battle for King's Landing, so King Stannis had appointed a new man. Ser Clayton Suggs was a brute and the gods had obviously made the man for the job. A notorious sadist who apparently used to join the torturers at Dragonstone and ask to help with their work and had later become chief torturer. Suggs the Thug many called him.

Ser Imry Florent cried when they brought him out, and from the look of his tunic, he had soiled himself from both ends. One swing did the job. Ser Axell was a less simplistic affair. He came out shouting his innocence and of Lord Seaworth's treachery, how he should be Hand of the King and Warden of the West. When these pleas fell on deaf ears, he has the temerity to fall on his knees and beg Princess Shireen to spare him. The poor giirl glanced at her father, and when the King shook his head, she turned away.

"Cunt!" Ser Axell had responded, "Run off to your wildling boy, slut! Give yourself to him all you want, it won't change the fact that you're fuck ugly!"

The watching crowd had fallen silent. Kevan was amazed. How could a man say such to his niece? All eyes were on the King. Stannis slowly stepped down from the dais, walked up to Ser Axell and punched him square in the face. As Florent fell, blood gushing through his hands as he cradled his broken nose, Stannis took the sword from Ser Clayton and, in one swing, cut Axell's head clean off his kneeling body. The disembodied head fell, the knight's severed hands still clinging to his shattered nose.

Stannis walked away in silence, took his wife and daughter by their arms and led them back into Maegor's Holdfast. Before he followed, Kevan gestured to Suggs,

"Clear this mess up."


	72. Chapter 72: Addam III

_NOTE - A brief glance at Dorne. Enjoy.  
_

_Addam_

Prince Doran had given him a small escort to take him to the Prince's Pass. From there he could ride through the Reach and home. His escort was indeed small, three lancers and the Lady Nym. He had been surprised when the Prince told him that the Sand Snake would be coming, but it was not unwelcome.

They were now two days from the Pass, and he was itching to be rid of his tail. The lancers were sullen and hardly spoke at all, a drastic change from the company of the talking machine that was Flement Brax and the brash figure of the Strongboar, but Nymeria Sand was worse. She never left his side, and insisted on fucking him every night, sometimes more frequently. It wasn't the sex he was complaining about, that was great. It was the guilt. He knew what he was doing, but he did it anyway. He was better than this, but apparently he wasn't.

As they bedded down for the night, she came to him again. _I shall say no._

"I want you, Ser knight."

"I don't think we should..."

She reached for his groin, but he pulled himself away, "No. I said no."

She glared at him, then growled, "Fine. It's your funeral."

The look in her eyes as she said that worried him. It was not the first thing relating to his death that she had said on the journey, but he had never thought much of it, but that look was pure evil. He lay back against his travel pack and thought. _I was surprised Prince Doran let me go. I know his plan now, if I ride home and tell my father, he will tell Lord Kevan, and he will tell the King. I could bring down Doran's whole scheme, or at least severely hinder it. If Stannis knew Daenerys was coming, then he would have time to prepare. _It's your funeral. _Only, I won't ride home. I will die out here in the desert. Those men will make sure I never tell Stannis, make sure he cannot prepare. They'll kill me tonight, while we're still in Martell lands._

He did not sleep. He closed his eyes, but kept his dagger handy, and his sword in arm's reach, and kept his ears open. He did not know how long he lay there for, but it was well past midnight when the men began to move around.

"Stay quiet Maron? Do you want him to wake up?"

"Stupid northerner, he wouldn't wake up if I shat on his head."

Then a female voice, "Be silent both of you. I'll do it."

Addam heard the rasp of the dagger, and the pad of her feet. He waited until she was right beside him. He opened his eyes just in time to see the blade come down. He rolled with all the force he could muster into her legs, knocking her to the ground. Scrambling up, he drew his sword. The lancers came at him then, sabres raised high. He slammed the hilt of his sword into one, following it up with a blow to the back of the head. The man fell, stunned yet conscious, but Addam didn't have time to stop and finish him. He swung his blade into the gut of the second man, carving open his innards, and looked around for the third. The Dornishman was mounted, and came at him, spear lowered. Addam threw himself out of the way, and ran for his horse. Mounting up with all the speed he could summon, he span his steed around just in time to block a lunge from the rider. The man was fierce, but lacked Addam's training. He rode straight up to him, holding his reins in his sword hand, and plunged his dagger through the man's eye and into his brain. The first man had pulled himself to his feet and now charged. Addam ran him down easily, finishing him with a sword thrust.

Just as he relaxed, he was knocked from his horse by an unexpected blow. _I forgot Lady Nym. _He dropped his sword and dagger in the fall. The two of them rolled along the sand, and down the side of the rock. The impacts of the stone winded them both, but she clung on in a vice-like grip. By the time they reached the bottom, Nymeria Sand was on top of him. She plunged the dagger down, but he moved his head just in time. Grabbing her knife-hand, he rolled on top, and began to turn the blade downwards.

"Please, my beautiful knight, don't. We can run away together, to the Summer Isles where we can love all day and sleep all night. I am sorry, I only want you." She began to cry as she begged.

_She's a treacherous snake, you know she's trying to fool you. Kill her, or she'll kill you. _Then why was it so difficult? He'd never killed a woman before, let alone one he'd bedded. He closed his eyes and, steeling himself, plunged the blade downwards. He heard her gasp as it entered her throat. Rolling off Nymeria's body, he gasped for breath. After catching his breath, he stood, his body aching from the fall down the rock face. He spared her one look.

"I loved you. It hurt me, but I loved you."

He began to climb back up the rock. He needed the horses. He would ride alternately on the four mounts. He needed all speed he could manage. He must warn the King.

* * *

He rode north with four horses, switching when one tired. He had taken the Dornishmen's coin, so paid for food and fodder where he needed, but never stopped long. His longest stay was at an inn just south of Highgarden. While his horses recovered, he watched the Tyrell army from the top of a small hill just over a mile away.

As he finished counting, he whistled. Eighty thousand men, from across the Reach. All the strength of House Tyrell had gathered, and the banners proved it, Tarly, Oakheart, Crane, Caswell, Osgrey, Norcross, Ashford, Cuy, Varner, Fossoway, Rowan, Redwyne, Vyrwel, even the forces that had supposedly bent the knee to Stannis, Hightower, Costayne, Bulwer and Mullendore. _They're obviously waiting for something, but what?_

He rode north. He hardly slept, and practically killed the horses, but he rode north. A week after his escape from Dorne, Ser Addam Marbrand reached the gates of Ashemark.

Shown to his father's solar, he waited. When Lord Damon Marbrand arrived, he told him everything. When his tale was done, his father clapped him on the shoulder and said,

"Go to bed. Rest. When you've recovered and we've sent ravens to the King with this news, we're marching."

"Marching where?"

"To join Kevan Lannister's army at Casterly Rock."


	73. Chapter 73: Victarion IV

_NOTE - Sorry it's been so long since the last one, I have been swamped by exams lately. I know it's short, but it is more of a filler chapter to keep Victarion up to date. Enjoy!  
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_Victarion_

Seagard had been a disaster. Upon the return of his fleet to Pyke, the captains had been less than pleased. One man, a lowborn from Lordsport who had made good, had had the balls to suggest recalling Euron and making him King. Since the man had so much guts, Victarion had decided to unburden him of them, disemboweling the man personally and hanging his innards on the rigging of _Iron Victory _for the crows. He was King, not the Crow's Eye. The captains and kings had shouted for him, not the Crow's Eye. He needed a success, and soon, to ensure the continued popularity of his reign, but where?

The Riverlands were out, the Blackfish had seen to that, and Asha was licking her wounds at Deepwood Motte after being repulsed from Bear Island. Her report spoke of women who rode bears and skinchangers. He did not believe it for one second, no more than he believed that he could turn into a crab at will by chanting in the Old Tongue. The Westerlands were facing rebellion, so they were a potential, but the biggest target, Lannisport, had already been destroyed. There were the Shield Islands, which would allow his fleet to raid all the way up the Mander to Highgarden, and also Oldtown. Yes, the great port city would be a juicy target, and once it's defences were overwhelmed, the Arbor would be his to seize. Oldtown it would be.

He summoned his leading captains and lords to tell them the plan. Lord Rodrik Harlaw, the Reader, brought him an interesting proposal.

"Lord King and Captain, news has reached us of dragons in the East, controlled by one Daenerys Targaryen."

"What of it?"

"If you were to sail to Essos, and offer her the help of the Iron Fleet in reclaiming her throne, how could she refuse?"

"And give up our freedom? Give up the Old Way? Are you deaf, brother? I will not do it!" Victarion and Rodrik were not blood brothers, but their healthy respect for each others prowess where they themselves failed had eventually led to more brotherly affection than Victarion had for any of his blood brothers, except Balon of course.

"No. I do not suggest that. I suggest you go to her, offer her your help. Not a subject, but a potential ally. Make it clear that she will not rule you and yours. By helping her you will earn our freedom."

"This plan is good. They say she is the most beautiful woman in the world. An alliance is only secure if it is made through marriage. I shall offer to marry her. A strong husband, with the fleet she needs to reach Westeros."

"Exactly my King."

Lord Blacktyde voiced his concerns, "What if she rejects this proposal?"

The Reader replied, "Then our ships sail away. She cannot reach Westeros without a fleet, and without us, she will not have one. Our ships can sail home, and maybe pillage the Arbor and Oldtown on the way back."

Victarion laughed aloud, "When Euron spoke of dragons and the east I thought him mad, but now I see his reason. Yet he claimed he would rule all Westeros, I am not so stupid. Ironborn cannot rule the green lands, only reave. I shall sail the Iron Fleet to Daenerys Targaryen and bring her the offer. If she accepts, we carry her army over to Westeros, then begin to reave and pillage our mutual enemies. Gulltown, Sisterton, Weeping Town, Planky Town, Dragonstone, Claw Isle, Driftmark, we shall pillage all along the east coast. Stannis' fleet will be drawn out to face us, and then we shall crush it, leaving the way open to King's Landing itself! The world shall know the wrath of the Drowned God! And should if she refuse us? Then we shall pillage the Narrow Sea anyway!"

Lord Blacktyde spoke again, "My King, would it be wise to leave the islands undefended for so long?"

"Be silent you whimpering old goat. The Tullys have no sea power, not now we have burnt the Mallister ships. Our raid on Lannisport destroyed the Western fleet. Asha keeps the Northerners occupied, and I smashed the Redwyne fleet off Fair Isle. The only ships left on this seaboard are the limping remnants of Willas Tyrell's pathetic flotilla. We must needs pass the Shield Islands to move south, so we shall burn it at anchor. Then there will be no naval power to rival us for another generation!"

The captains of the Iron Fleet roared their approval.

"Prepare the ships! Reader!"

"Yes my King?"

"Remain here, I need a solid man to rule in my stead. Keep your Harlaw ships to defend our homes, the rest sail with me."

* * *

The Shield Islands fell easily. They burned it all. Not a single building was left standing. Strong men and soldier were taken as thralls, beautiful women as whores. Victarion himself enjoyed the bastard daughter of Lord Hewett so much he had brought her onto his ship as a serving wench. The girl was lucky he had not handed her around the crew, lucky she was his salt wife. The girl was called Falia, she said. He did not care. The dusky woman showed her how to do the things he required of her, and then he had her tongue ripped out. He had come to appreciate the dusky woman's silence, and he knew that was what he wanted from the bastard girl too. Without tongues they could not share the things he told them in the dark of the night. He kept them both in his cabin, for his pleasure. No doubt when Daenerys Targaryen was his wife he would have no use for them, he would give them to Nute the Barber or Red Ralf Stonehouse. What use would he have for them? The most beautiful woman in the world would be his, to have as he pleased. He checked himself. He would keep the bastard and the dusky woman, they could be his wife's maids, and satisfy his appetites alongside her.

They sailed south again the next day, making for Oldtown. Out of sight of the land they went, undetected by the Tyrell coastal watchtowers, and entered the Whispering Sound in the dead of night. The plan was same that he had used at Lannisport, except this time, he would make for the Citadel. Victarion had no great respect for the grey rat maesters, but they knew things and deep in their tower there must be something that could secure his rule, and ensure Ironborn freedom. He would lead the crew of _Iron Victory _there himself.

As the Iron Fleet slid noiselessly into the harbour of Oldtown, the alarm went up from the great watchtowers on either side of the entrance. Victarion was amazed that they had come this far without being detected, but the early morning fog had kept their hulls hidden. As the alarm bells tolled, the Iron Captain attacked. He was the kraken, and none could withstand him.


	74. Chapter 74: Jon VI

_NOTE - Now we return to the Wall. Enjoy! Follow, favourite, review!  
_

_Jon  
_

The snows had fallen deep now, and the only reason that the small column of black brothers and wildling captives made any decent progress to Castle Black was that the raised road along the Wall was still relatively clear, though there were some places where the men had to dig their way through. Jon kept them moving all day and all night, knowing that the sooner they reached Castle Black, the more warning they could give the Old Bear. Though the remaining brothers grumbled, he kept pushing them. Theon proved to be a great help, enforcing Jon's commands and quelling what dissent had arisen, all the while keeping an eye on the captive Thenns. As much as Jon was determined not to trust Theon after his betrayal, he found himself doing so anyway. The two of them seemed to have reached an unspoken agreement not to speak of their time before the Watch, which meant they hardly ever spoke at all. This suited Jon fine, and though Theon had originally tried to strike up conversation, as they had in their time at Winterfell, he had given up. All the same, Greyjoy appeared to have changed. No longer arrogant or mouthy, he went about his duties with competence and, though poopular with around the campfire, he kept himself to himself.

Jon had spoken twice more with Sigorn, but only once had he got anything but abuse. Getting information out of the wildling was proving to be harder than getting blood out of a stone.

"When will your father attack?"

"When he's ready."

"How many men?"

"Enough."

"How many men?"

"If you think I'm telling you anything crow, you don't know the Free Folk."

"Maybe I should, maybe I'm trying to. Maybe I know more than you think."

"Piss on that. You know nothing Jon Snow."

The words rung Jon's ears as they marched that night, and he resolved to speak with Sigorn again. As he walked back down the column, Ghost followed him. The wolf dreams were getting more frequent, and more powerful. No less than four times since Bran's departure had Jon awoken with the tang of blood in his mouth, the memories of the kill fresh in his mind. He had tried reaching out to the direwolf while awake, but had thus far been unsuccessful.

He fell in beside the Thenn leader and walked in silence, waiting for him to speak first. Sigorn was chained hand and foot, the chain around his ankles just long enough to allow him to walk. He had been bound with rope and only around his wrists, like the others, but he had made an escape attempt which had resulted in the deaths of two brothers when he slipped his bonds. Ulmer of the Kingswood had put an arrow in his shoulder and Jarmen had knocked him unconscious with the haft of a spear. The bloody stump of his left wrist, bound tightly by a rag torn from his clothing, hung uselessly in front of him as he trudged onwards. Jon was not fool enough to think him beaten. The loss of the hand might be a hindrance, but it was not his sword hand.

"What do you want crow?" He spat the final word. His voice was deep and gravelly, but he rasped from thirst.

"I want to know what you meant by the blue-eyed dead."

"Wights boy."

It was odd that Sigorn called him 'boy' when he could not have been more than five years Jon's senior, but Jon ignored it, "Wights?"

"And worse. They're coming south, but the Wall will stop them. They cannot pass the Wall."

"Worse? You don't mean the Others?"

"What else? They are coming for all of us, that's why Mance wants to get our people onto this side of your lovely big wall."

"The Others are children's stories!"

"And that Jon Snow, is why you are a boy, because you know nothing."

Sigorn did not speak again, so Jon returned to the head of the column. As he did, he spotted smoke in the distance, emerging over a rise in the road.

"Galion, go and find out what's going on over there!"

One of the rangers lept up onto one of the few horses they had left and rode off towards the smoke. It looked to be in the direction of Castle Black and if that were the case, Jon wanted to know what he was marching into. As Galion disappeared over the rise, Jon ordered the column to halt.

"Tie the wildlings up." He gestured to a nearby copse, "In there, one to a tree." Picking out four archers he gave them their orders, "Ulmer, Hullen, Mannion, Lewys, watch them, if a single one tries to escape, stick a shaft in his throat."

They nodded and strung their bows. Truth be told, only Ulmer and his goldenheart longbow could be relied upon to shoot true, the other three were walking wounded. Despite this, Jon knew the job would be done. That longbow was from the Summer Islands and could outdistance even the yew bows of the Watch, and Ulmer was a peerless marksman. While the rest of his brothers tied up the wildlings, Jon summoned Theon and Jarmen and walked to the top of the rise. The sight that greeted them was not one they had expected.

Castle Black was aflame. Figures rushed between the buildings, and the occasional shout or crash carried up to Jon's ears. The men were barely distinguishable, but the fur-clad wildlings appeared to have the upper hand.

"Get the men up here." As Theon ran to obey, Jon turned to Jarmen, "We'll go straight in and make for the training yard, try and find the Lord Commander."

Once his men were ready, not prepared to wait for Galion's return, Jon gave the order and his forty black brothers advanced.

* * *

As they entered the outskirts of Castle Black's extensive network of huts, the brothers broke into a run. They hit the wildlings like a mailed fist. Most of these were Thenns too, but that did not matter. The vengeful Watchmen cut them down like wheat, determined to break through to the Lord Commander. Jon lost himself in the heat of the battle, Ghost on one side, Theon on the other. Against his better judgement, he found himself trusting Theon to cover his flank as he pushed relentlessly forwards.

When they broke through to the training yard, they realised how dire things were. As Jarmen took command of his men and had them redirected to strengthen the perimeter that the brothers had established, Jon and Theon went to find Mormont. When they found him, he was almost unrecognisable. A huge black welt covered much of his face, the bruising partially obscured by the blood pouring from a gash on his forehead.. The blood had run down into his beard, creating a dyed red mass of wiry hair. Clydas fussed over him, trying to stem the bleeding as the Old Bear continued to roar orders at his subordinates.

"Snow!" he bellowed, "What the fuck are you doing here?"

"The Thenns attacked the Nightfort. We fought them off and we captures the Magnar's son. He told us that his father was moving on Castle Black. I judged that we would be more useful here than there."

Alliser Thorne interrupted, "Dammit Snow, you were told to obey orders!"

Mormont growled, "Shut up Thorne, sometimes imagination is a good thing. Well done Snow. Ser Alliser, join Donal Noye and Lord Slynt in holding the Wall, you have the command. Lord Snow and I can handle the Thenns. Now get up there and kill the bastards. Jon, go and join the men. I'll join you as soon as Clydas is done with me, then we'll push them out and rout them."

The healer blanched, "I don't think that would be wise, my lord."

"I don't believe I asked your opinion. I'll not lose my own castle!"

Leaving them to their debate, Jon and Theon returned to the battle. Charging in, Jon cut down the first man in his way, while Theon ducked under a wild swing and slammed his shoulder into the man's ribs, leaving him to have his throat torn out by Ghost. The men of the Night's Watch were exhausted, but the appearance of the two officers boosted their morale and they began to push back against the wildlings. Blood ran down Longclaw's length, soaking Jon's glove. As he took a small break, allowing another man to take his place in the line, Jon found himself watching Theon. Greyjoy had always been competent with a sword, but not amazing. That was not to say he was no swordsman, it just didn't seem to come to him naturally as it had for Jon. Now though, he seemed to finally have mastered it. He cut down four as Jon watched.

Not wanting to be outdone, Jon threw himself back into the melee. His first opponent was a tall, wiry man with a scruffy black beard. He wielded his spear with a grace Jon had never seen in a wildling. He feinted to his left before reversing the haft, slamming the butt into Jon's chest, knocking him to the floor. As the Thenn raised the spear to finish him, a feral growl sounded from behind Jon. The wildling looked up and fear covered his face. The sword swung out and took off the man's head.

As Jon stood up, he turned to see Lord Commander Mormont, a huge sword in hand.

"Thank you, my lord."

"You're welcome." Without another word, Mormont returned to the fight.

* * *

The battle lasted well into the night, and was only ended when Ser Alliser and Janos Slynt led the men down from the top of the Wall to rescue their brothers down below. They had repulsed the climbers and Mance's host had pulled back. Rayder was not defeated, but checked for now. He would attack again, but the Night's Watch had bought some breathing space.

With the battle done, Jon had sent some of his surviving Nightfort men to bring their captives from the copse. Once they had returned, the prisoners were put in with those who had been captured following the day's battle. One of these was Styr, the Magnar of Thenn. When Sigorn had been brought to him, he had embraced his son and cursed him for allowing the crows to take his hand. Sigorn had taken the onslaught in silence.

"Lord Snow? The Lord Commander wants you." A brother said to Jon.

"I'm on my way."

When he reached the Lord Commander's chamber, he took a deep breath and entered. Lord Commander Mormont was lying on his bed, clearly in agony, a bloody stain spreading on his black clothing. Clydas fussed over him as the other officers of the Watch looked on in silence. First Builder Othell Yarwyck, First Steward Bowen Marsh, First Ranger Thoren Smallwood, Maester Aemon, Theon Greyjoy, Janos Slynt and Alliser Thorne lined the walls of the bedchamber. Jon took his place next to the maester.

Mormont coughed, "Where is Noye?"

"Dead, my lord." It was Smallwood who replied, "One of the giants made it into the tunnel. Noye and four others went in to stop him. He killed the giant, but it crushed him."

"Oh." The Lord Commander hardly seemed to register this news, his eyes were clouded and he shuddered with every breath.

Maester Aemon shuffled towards Mormont. "Here my lord, drink this. For the pain."

"I don't want bloody milk of the poppy!" He snapped back from his delirium, "I called you here because I wanted to say something damn you." He broke off into a coughing fit. Once this had subsided, he continued.

"I'm not an idiot, I know I'm done for. Bloody Magnar stuck his axe in me. Now listen to me, all of you. We need peace. The Night's Watch is not strong enough to fight against what follows the wildlings. We need more men, and there is one place to find enough to man the entire length of the Wall. Whoever becomes the next Lord Commander, make sure he knows that we must have peace with Mance Rayder and the wildlings. We have a common enemy."

As he finished speaking, Clydas spoke, "Leave him now, let him rest."

As the officers filed out, Jon heard Slynt talking to Thorne, "What absolute rot, he's delirious. Peace with the wildlings? Never! Not from our Lord Commander."

"Perhaps you think you should fill that post, Lord Slynt?" Yarwyck asked.

"I commanded the City Watch of King's Landing. I know how to command men."

"The Gold Cloaks were a shambles last time I was in the capital, when I was recruiting from their dungeons," Smallwood said, "Fat, lazy and undisciplined, led by corrupt officers, who lined their pockets from their protection rackets."

"How dare you! I have friends at court! Powerful friends!" Slynt's jowls quivered as he spat his retort.

"Peace, gentlemen," Maester Aemon quietened them, "We must not fight amongst ourselves, least of all now. In light of his experience, I suggest that Ser Alliser Thorne act as the acting commander of Castle Black, until a new Lord Commander is chosen. We must also send word to Cotter Pyke and Ser Denys Mallister."

Once they agreed on that, Jon watched as they walked away. Thorne and Smallwood would definitely put their names forward for the position, as would Slynt and probably Bowen Marsh. There were others to consider too, such as Ser Jaremy Rykker and Othell Yarwyck. Donal Noye would also have been a contender had he lived.

Whether he liked it or not, Jon was a senior officer now, and to keep that position, he had to support the right person for the command. He could not bring himself to back Ser Alliser, Slynt was a fat toad of a man, Smallwood might be a good commander but he was too petty, Marsh was rumoured to be a coward and Ser Jaremy was not fond of him. He did not know Pyke or Mallister, who commanded Eastwatch-by-the-Sea and the Shadow Tower respectively, which left him with one choice, Othell Yarwyck.

* * *

Lord Commander Jeor Mormont died that night. A note was found on his bedside table the next morning by Clydas, which turned out to be a will of sorts,

_I, Jeor of the House Mormont, 997th Lord Commander of the Night's Watch, leave the Valyrian steel longsword of my house, called Longclaw, and my raven, to Jon Snow, Commander of the Nightfort. I leave my breastplate and signet ring, other heirlooms of my house, to my niece, Dacey of House Mormont, my sister's daughter. _

Underneath was scrawled his signature. Jon found it rather sad how, despite all those years of good service and bravery, all that Mormont had to show for it was a bastard sword, an irritating bird, a battered breastplate and a bronze ring.

By noon, Ser Alliser, Ser Jaremy, Othell Yarwyck and Thoren Smallwood had been nominated for the Lord Commander's position. By nightfall, ravens had arrived from both Ser Denys Mallister and Cotter Pyke, declaring their candidacy, and Bowen Marsh and Janos Slynt had also been nominated.

Jon sat in the modest chamber he had been granted with Theon and Sam. Mormont's raven sat on the window ledge, watching them intently.

"You could do it, Jon."

"Do what, Sam?"

"Be the Lord Commander."

"Me? No, I'm too young, too inexperienced, I would never be chosen."

"You know what's right, you rebuilt the Nightfort."

"Hardly."

"You have fought the wildlings, just like anyone else."

"For nowhere near as long as anyone else."

"Jon, you could -"

"Enough Sam. Could you take this to Maester Aemon for me?" He handed his friend a sealed letter. As Sam left, Jon shouted, "Send Satin in."

Satin was an ex-boy-whore from Oldtown, assigned to the stewards. The other senior officers had refused to have him as their personal steward due to his past, but Jon had taken him on. He was quick to learn, and had been fearless in fighting the wildlings. He sent Satin to bring him Jarmen Buckwell, and requested that he bring ale.

Once Jarmen had arrived, Jon began.

"There will be a vote, sooner rather than later."

"Aye."

"I plan to back First Builder Yarwyck, if we give him the votes of the Nightfort men, will he win?"

"Unlikely. He's a good man, but no warrior. My guess is that Thorne, Pyke, Mallister, Rykker and Smallwood are the real contenders. Slynt hasn't been here long enough to have any support, Marsh is a copper-counter and Yarwyck lacks battle-experience."

"I will not support Ser Alliser."

"Wise that. He'd have you on a suicide mission Beyond the Wall in hours. Cotter Pyke is harsh, and isn't keen on young officers, don't expect anything from him. Mallister is old, if he wins we'll be having another vote before the winter ends. Rykker is of an age and mind with Thorne, if Alliser gets a lead, JAremy will back him. Smallwood is small-minded, not the man we want commanding us."

"Who then?"

"You."

"Are you serious? I'm far too young."

"Osric Stark was the Lord Commander at ten."

"We weren't fighting a war then."

"Well the way I see it Jon, you can refuse to become a candidate and condemn us to death, or you can let me nominate you." Jarmen put down his tankard, "Let me know by dawn, or I'll back Mallister. He is our second-best choice, maybe by the time he's died you'll be ready to stand. If we're still alive that is. Goodnight Snow."

As the ranger left, the raven began to caw. _Snow. Snow._

Jon turned to Theon. "What do you think?"

Theon looked shocked that Jon had willingly spoken to him. "You have the support of the Nightfort men, it's only a couple of dozen, but it's a start. The trick would be to convince candidates to support you."

"Will you support me?"

"Yes. It's as Jarmen said. If not you, I would back Mallister to try and keep Thorne out."

"But why me?"

"Because Sam is right. I was there when Mormont said to make peace. I heard the others scoff at him and call him delusional. They are fools, all of them, if they think we can fight the dead and the wildlings. We need peace, and we can't make it with the dead. You are the only one who will pursue peace with the wildlings."

"Very well. Tell Jarmen I've made my decision. Tell him to nominate me at breakfast tomorrow."


	75. Chapter 75: Brynden VI

_NOTE - Hit a low point in the workload, so here's another one. I hope to update my other story 'Lions, Red and Gold' soon too. If you haven't read it yyet, please have a look, and if you like it review it! Thanks. Enjoy!  
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_Brynden_

They had been waiting at Castle Cerwyn for four days. It had snowed for four days. Not heavily, but constantly. His men, totally unaccustomed to this weather, were now grateful of Edmure's insistence on winter clothing. Brynden had taken to sleeping in his furs, not something he was used to, because it was the only way to keep warm. Of course, the Greatjon insisted that this was only a light dusting, and worryingly, he was right.

Lord Cerwyn had been most accommodating, offering what rooms his small castle could spare, but Brynden had felt obliged to stay with his men in a tent, to suffer as they suffered. It was a cheap trick to keep their morale up, but it worked. As he trudged into Castle Cerwyn's courtyard, he was joined by Lord Blackwood. He too was bundled up in as many furs as he could get his hands on, making his shoulder appear hunched and dramatically increasing his size. With this added to the raven feather cloak and hooked nose, he looked more a vulture than a man.

"When are we marching Blackfish? My men are freezing."

"Soon. Lord Too-fat and his knights arrived this morning."

"This is not natural, this snow, and it's only going to get worse."

"You don't need to tell me."

They worked their way through to the Hall where the rest of the commanders were gathering. Cerwyn's hall was like the rest of the castle, small and stone, but warm. A round table had been placed in the centre of the hall, upon which was a map of the North, from the Neck to the Wall, Bear Island to Skagos, and several markers representing the armies. A wolf's head, trout and merman represented the now-concentrated forces of Lord Stark and his allies, centred on Castle Cerwyn, while a flayed man, sunburst and tower showed the forces of the Boltons, Karstarks and Freys. The Karstarks were shown to be only a day's march west of Cerwyn, while Roose Bolton and the Freys remained at Riverrun. A few other markers showed a few other forces. A flayed man over the Dreadfort represented Ramsay Snow's army, a kraken sat over Deepwood Motte, and a tree sat just off the eastern coast, representing Ser Lucas Blackwood and his mission to Skagos.

Around the table were gathered the army's commanders, Brynden and Lord Blackwood aside, they were easily divided into two groups, the old and the young. The younger members were primarily Lord Stark's close friends; Lord Cley Cerwyn, Lord Harrion Karstark and Dacey Mormont, now the Lady of Bear Island after her mother's sudden death two days earlier. No-one had expected Lady Maege's death, but the maesters swore that her passing was natural. The older members of the gathering were the Greatjon, Ser Helman Tallhart, Robett Glover and Lord Wyman Manderly. Manderly had arrived with five hundred men, fifty of them knights. Though Robb had hoped for more, he had not been disappointed, given that House Manderly's fleet now sailed south from King's Landing, and several thousand Manderly men were already with the Northern host.

Manderly also brought news that Lucas Blackwood had been given a ship and set sail for Skagos, what was now six days ago, making his estimated arrival time in two days. Allowing a few days to convince the Skagosi, and two more to sail to Karhold, he estimated that Blackwood would be investing Karhold in a week's time. He also gave Robb a letter which had arrived in White Harbour from the King. After reading it, Robb announced that Stannis had formally granted his blessing to the betrothal of Rickon and the Princess.

Moving back to the war, the Greatjon asked what was to be done about the fact that they now faced three threats; Arnolf Karstark, Ramsay Snow and Roose Bolton himself. Robb decided to split his forces.

"Lord Umber, Lord Karstark, you will take your men west and smash Arnolf. If our intelligence is correct, he will surrender to you rather than fight. Bring him here as an ally, with his sons and grandsons, we'll arrest them quietly and deal with them once Bolton is defeated. Harry, you shall have the men he brings."

Karstark's eyes gleamed fiercely and he stroked his beard, "Well, they are my men. It gives me no pleasure to ask this Robb, but my uncle should be executed, and my cousins sent to the Wall. It is not right that they remain at Karhold."

"We shall deal with that when Bolton is done."

"As you say."

"Uncle Brynden, you will take your Riverlanders and the Manderly men to Hornwood. Take the castle, leave a castellan and move on the Dreadfort. Besiege it, assault if you feel you can, but do not throw lives away. Keep the Bastard holed up. Once Winterfell is freed, I shall move to reinforce you."

"My lord, my men are not used to these conditions, would it not be easier to send some more acclimatised force? The clansmen and Mormonts perhaps?"

"Maybe, but I have no commander I trust more than you."

"As you command, my lord."

A man in Cerwyn colours ran in and whispered in his lord's ear. Lord Cley broke into a smile.

"A column of men from the North, flying an Umber banner."

The Greatjon slammed his fist down on the table, "My uncle!"

"Crowfood?" Lord Manderly asked.

"No, Crowfood was at Winterfell when Bolton took it. This will be Whoresbane, with the last of our House's men."

Robb jumped on this, "How many?"

"It will not be many. Fifty, sixty maybe. Between the men I brought south and the men with Mors we took all but the very young, weak or old. These men will not be up to much, but it comforts me that they are here."

* * *

Two hours later, Hother Umber made his report.

"My Lord Stark, when Mors left for Winterfell, I remained at Last Hearth as castellan, and the guardian of the Greatjon's daughters and younger sons. Then your brother Brandon arrived from Winterfell when news came of Bolton's treachery -"

Robb interrupted him, "Bran is alive?"

"Yes, my lord. I thought you knew."

"No, we thought Theon had killed him."

"No my lord, he escaped, joined Rodrik Cassel's army and retook Winterfell. Then he and his companions were sent to me at the Hearth for safety."

"His companions?"

"A wildling woman, a simple-minded stableboy, two crannogmen and a knight."

"Where is he now?"

"I was getting to that my lord. When news of Arnolf Karstark's treachery reached us, I led what men we had left into the Lonely Hills to hide. I sent Brandon to Castle Black, to your bastard brother. Then, when Karstark's column left the Hearth, my men and I followed, and harassed him every step of the way. We had been camped three leagues east of Winterfell, taking out Bolton's supply columns and scouts when we heard you'd passed Moat Cailin. Then I marched to you."

"You have my thanks, my lord, not only for your loyal service, but for my brother's life."

"Don't thank me yet, my lord. We have no way of knowing if your brother even made it to the Wall." Whoresbane's face was grim

Lord Umber leaned forward, "Uncle, what of my children?"

"Harmond marched with me, he was adamant on that. Lyarra and Arrana remained at the Hearth and played host to Karstark. They must have done a good job, as there was no trouble, brave girls they are. We captured a man leading a supply column, said he was Arnolf Karstark's grandson, though he said 'Lord' Karstark. He said that his grandfather was trying to arrange a marriage between his son Cregan and Lyarra. I cut his head off and had it thrown over the walls of Winterfell in the dead of night."

The Greatjon growled, "My daughter, wed to Karstark's spawn? He's buried three wives already, all in suspicious circumstances. I will not have it."

Hother replied, "The little shit said something about Bolton refusing to sanction it until the war was done."

"Good. What about Benjen?"

"He went to the Wall with little Lord Stark." Hother returned his gaze to Robb, "Let me go with my nephew after Karstark, my lord."

"With pleasure."

* * *

Arya was with the knight Gendry when Brynden entered her chambers.

"Uncle Brynden, Robb said you were going to the Dreadfort, please let me come!"

"No child. This is a winter campaign, no place for you."

"Then why are you here?"

"For him." The Blackfish nodded towards Gendry.

"Me, my lord?"

"Yes. You're a good strong man, you're coming with me."

Arya shouted, "No! You can't take him!"

"I can and I am. Ser Gendry is a southron member of this army, and as such he marches under my command. I'm sorry Arya."

* * *

As Brynden mounted up for the march he heard Robb shouting him.

"Uncle!"

"Yes, my lord?"

"I know you won't fail us. Keep the Bastard in the Dreadfort."

"What if he's gone by the time I arrive?"

"Take the castle and march for Winterfell. Farewell uncle."

"Farewell nephew. Your father would be proud of you. Your mother is proud of you. She may not show it, but she is. It takes a commander to win a war, but it takes a leader to inspire, not only the men, but his lords as well."

"They follow me because they loved my father."

"You honestly think that? Yes, it was true at the start, but for whom did they defy the Iron Throne, whom did they name King?"

"I gave up that crown. I made terrible mistakes."

"You gave it up because you did not want more of your people's blood spilt, that is the best reaosn there is. You are the second King-who-knelt, Robb. As for mistakes, you mean that business at the ford? Not the biggest blunder I've ever seen, and one of the easiest to recover from."

"That blunder nearly cost you your life, and those of my mother and sisters."

"You do yourself no credit Robb. You are a better man than you believe, and that is why. For the sake of the Seven, you even managed to get Riverlanders to follow you, into a winter campaign of all things!"

"It is kind of you to say so."

"It is right of me to say so. Goodbye Robb, I shall wait for you at the Dreadfort."

* * *

That night, when they made camp on the road east, Brynden listened to Lord Manderly explain the route that they must take to Hornwood.

"Follow this road east, cross the White Knife and follow on to Hornwood, then we turn north to the Dreadfort."

"Thank you my lord." He looked around the leaders of his column of six thousand men. Lord Blackwood, Harry Rivers, who was Lord Bracken's bastard son, Lord Manderly and his two sons, Sers Wylis and Wendel and Lord Woolfield had squeezed into the one tent. Not an easy feat given the size of each of the Manderlys.

"Gentlemen. We have a job to do. Will shall liberate Hornwood from Ramsay Snow's clutches, and once I have named a castellan, we shall move on the Dreadfort and crush this Bastard of Bolton."

"How? The Dreadfort is impregnable!" Lord Woolfield asked.

"No castle is impregnable, my lord. Not even the Dreadfort."


	76. Chapter 76: Margaery VII

_NOTE - My exams done, it appears that I have nothing better to do than keep writing. Enjoy!  
_

_Margaery  
_

She was nervous, more than she had been ever before. She had been wed before, but this time was different. Quentyn waited for her at the front of the sept. Margaery thought on him again. He had proven sweet and kind, not exactly handsome, but his shyness and formal courtesy was endearing. She supposed he was as nervous as she was. Megga and Elinor had been with her all morning, doing their best to make her look her best. Her gown was the flowing green off her house with golden thread, more gold was entwined in her hair. Willas would be giving her away in her father's absence. She had originally asked Guyard, but he had turned her down, saying that it would make her husband uncomfortable. She knew he was right.

Guyard appeared to have settled in at the Water Gardens very well, sparring with the knights by day and keeping to himself by night. He still stood guard by her chamber regularly, but they kept each other at arms length for Quentyn's sake. At breakfast that morning, he had been sitting between the Fowler twins, who fawned over him, joking with two of Quentyn's knights, Gerris Drinkwater and Archibald Yronwood. She felt a momentary pang of jealousy when Jeyne Fowler fed him a grape, but pushed it from her. She hoped they made him happy, if Guyard was to be one of Quentyn's knights, he would be much more comfortable knowing Guyard was happily married. Of course, he could only marry one woman. Of the Fowler twins, it was more likely to be the younger, Jennelyn. Jeyne was her father's heir, and Old Franklyn Fowler would not let a good marriage opportunity be wasted on a landless knight. Guyard had told her that he had written to his father Lord Lester rejecting all claim to his inheritance and offering it to his brother.

A knock at the door dragged her back to the present.

"Margaery?" Willas called, "Are you ready? They're waiting for us."

"Yes, I'm coming." She stepped out of her chamber and took her brother's arm. As they walked she whispered to him, "How go things with Sansa?"

"Slowly. We walk together until my leg hurts, then we sit. She does needlework, I read, we talk. I don't think she fully trusts me yet, and I understand that."

"The poor girl has been through far too much. Be patient Willas."

"Isn't that what I'm good at?" he joked.

As they entered the sept, the gathered nobles rose. She knew few of them by sight, but did recognise some. Lord Fowler, Lord Vaith, Lady Ladybright and Ser Manfrey Martell, Prince Doran's cousin. As they moved on, more familiar faces appeared. Ellaria Sand and her daughters Elia, Dorea, Obella and Loreza, the other Sand Snake still in the Water Gardens, Tyene, Archibald and Cletus Yronwood with his lazy eye, Gerris Drinkwater and Ser Guyard, still accompanied by the Fowler twins. The very front row was occupied by Quentyn's family and the more honoured guests. Prince Doran sat in his wheeled chair, his younger son Prince Trystane on one side, Princess Arianne on the other. Arianne still amazed her, she was the only woman Margaery had ever met who made her feel unattractive. Arianne exuded a raw sexuality that Margaery could never match. The hulking form of the guard captain Areo Hotah loomed over the Princess. Further along, Sansa Stark stood, quiet and demure, clad in a simple dress of grey and white.

Her Prince waited for her at the front of the sept. Clad in a simple doublet of orange and bearing the Martell sigil on his chest, Quentyn looked nervous. As she moved forward, she whispered to him.

"Sorry I'm late." The septon glared at her reproachfully before beginning.

"Who brings this woman to be wed?"

"I do. Willas of the House Tyrell, Heir to Highgarden, her brother."

"Who comes to claim her?"

"I do. Prince Quentyn of House Martell, Heir to Sunspear."

The silence following his words was terrifying. A collective breath in had come from the assembled lords and now they waited. Margaery knew what they were waiting for, to see how Princess Arianne would react to this clear statement by her brother of his will to claim her birthright. Arianne scowled, and turning around, walked from the sept, followed by Tyene Sand and a few others. Margaery did not know their names, but they were her usual companions. Prince Doran did not move.

The septon looked at his Prince, "This is most unorthodox, I don't know what to -"

Doran spoke quietly, "He is my heir, that is the end of it. Continue septon."

"But the law, my Prince... Arianne is your heir."

"By our law, she is my heir unless she is wed or betrothed to the heir or lord of another house. As this is the case, Quentyn is my heir." His voice lowered, "Continue."

The septon seemed flustered, but carried on. When the time came for them to say the words, she turned to face Quentyn.

"Mother, Father, Warrior, Smith, Maiden, Crone, Stranger, he is mine and I am his."

They turned to face the assembled lords, whose applause was respectful, but not loud. She noticed that many of those present did not even pretend to clap, such as Ellaria Sand and Lady Alyse Ladybright. Prince Doran's move had been risky, but she knew that Arianne's supporters did not know of Doran's plan for Arianne. That did not explain why Arianne herself had stormed out, she did know the plan. Margaery pushed such thoughts from her mind, this was her wedding day and she was going to enjoy it.

* * *

The feast was extravagant and pure Dornish. Margaery had been in Dorne long enough to know that everything was powerfully spiced, but she had not yet become accustomed to it, and she found herself unable to eat much more than two courses. When the dancing began, she and Quentyn took to the floor before being joined by others. After a few songs, they returned to their seats to watch the other guests.

Prince Trystane was spinning with Sylva Santagar, another of Arianne's friends, and being watched carefully by his father. Prince Doran's gouty legs did not allow him the ability to walk, never mind dance, and he sat quietly at the head table, keeping an eye on his youngest son. Looking out over the guests, Margaery spotted Jennelyn Fowler in the arms of Ser Guyard, and again there was that pang of jealousy. She decided to deal with this by grabbing Quentyn's arm and dragging him out for another dance.

Her husband was clearly not a dancer. He stepped on her feet a few times, each time followed by profuse apologies and a nervous laugh. After the fourth time, he blushed so red he looked more like a plum than a person, but she calmed him with a quick kiss on the cheek. He was sweet, if awkward around women. She would help him with that. Glancing over his shoulder, she saw Sansa sitting alone, looking terrifically bored.

"Excuse me Quent, I must see to my brother."

"Of course, my lady."

"You can call me Margaery you know, I am your wife, you can use my name."

"As you say, Margaery."

Leaving him grinning behind her, she walked over to Willas.

"Willas, have you asked Lady Sansa to dance? She told us she liked that remember?"

Her brother looked at her as if she were daft, "Sister, you know I cannot, my leg -"

"Your leg did not stop you getting on a ship and going to war, or fighting a boarding action against the Iron Fleet. Get over there and ask her to dance."

"Fine, but I can't guarantee I won't step on her feet."

"Quent's been doing that all night. I'll request a slow one for you."

"Thank you." He knew she was toying with him, and his tone told her so.

"You'll thank me later, big brother!" She called after him.

* * *

As she and her husband snuck out of the feast early to avoid the bedding ceremony, they walked along a deserted corridor towards their chamber. Halfway down the passage, she realised that it was not empty. Looking around, she spotted two figures kissing in a darkened alcove. As she coughed, the man jumped into the light. Ser Guyard flushed and began to stutter an apology, but Jennelyn Fowler, silenced him by pressing her lips back onto his. Quentyn raised his eyebrows at Margaery, and she hardly suppressed a giggle. As they walked on and the sounds of the other couple's passion faded, she turned to her Prince.

"Did you have anything to do with that?"

He flushed again, "Maybe."

"How did you?"

"Well, I figured he might be lonely in Dorne, so far from home, and might want some company."

"And you wanted to make sure he was too busy to come to me."

"No, I never -"

"It's ok, I don't mind. I would have done the same."

"Oh. Well, yes that was it."

"I thought so. But how did you convince her?"

"It wasn't hard. The Fowler twins have always been my friends. One of them was my first kiss, though I don't know which, it was dark you see. Once they saw your knight, they decided they would do me a favour. All I had to do was point them in the right direction."

"How sneaky you are!"

"Jeyne told me that her sister is very taken with your crow knight, and believes that she intends to marry him."

"Would her father allow it?"

"Old Lord Fowler is a bit uptight, but as Jennelyn isn't hie heir, I don't see why not."

"That will be nice for them. They seem to get on _very _well."

The discussion had brought them to their new chamber. As she went in, she gasped. Along the walls were painted roses and thorns, entwined around suns and spears. The huge four-poster bed had deep green hangings and red sheets.

"I had it redecorated, I hope you like it." Quentyn explained quietly as he shut the door behind him.

She leaned in and kissed him, "I love it. Now, I do believe we're supposed to be doing something, yes?"

"I thought we left because you didn't want to? If you don't want to, we won't."

"No, I want to. I just didn't fancy being stripped and dragged here."

"Oh...so you want to? I don't know... I've never."

She placed a finger on his lips, "Shh, I'll show you. We'll start by getting rid of this, shall we?"

She began to unbutton his doublet, then had him untie her dress. Once they were naked, she pushed him back onto the bed.


	77. Chapter 77: Lucas

_NOTE - This one got quite long, but in my opinion, it deserves to be. Skagos is so unexplored in GRRM's work, it was nice to be able to go to town on the descriptive front. Enjoy!  
_

_Lucas  
_

He had taken a while to find his sea legs, but had done better than half his men, who still spent their days heaving over the ship's rail. Their small ship was one of the faster sloops of the Manderly fleet, _Merking's Daughter, _captained by an Ibbenese ex-whaler called Joth. Lord Manderly had been most gracious, and once he read the letter from Lord Stark, became very interested in Lucas, even going so far as to suggest a marriage to his youngest granddaughter. Lucas managed to refuse without causing insult, or so he thought.

The thick layer of mist that lay over the water meant that Lucas almost missed the appearance of the island until a voice called down from the crow's nest.

"Skagos in sight captain!"

Joth, a short man, wore whaleskin, furs and a bizarre horned helm, from under which protruded a shaggy grey beard in whalebone and tusk ringlets, bellowed orders in an odd, stunted version of the Common Tongue.

"Ship oars, we go in on wind. Helmsman, make for Great Cavern, wait in there while we ashore."

Lucas approached Joth, "Why a cavern? Can we not make port?"

The whaler laughed, "Make port? Is nowhere to make port. Nearest jetty probably Karhold. At back of sea cave a pebble beach and narrow stair cut from rock. Leads to top of the cliffs."

"How do you know this?"

"I sailed these waters four decades, last one and half in service of Lord Manderly. I trade here many time, and because people here like goods I brought, they show me safer way to bring more."

"When were you last here?"

"Sixteen no, seventeen years gone, before last winter."

"So it may well have all changed."

"Just so."

Lucas turned back to the vast looming bulk of the island. Mountainous and mostly forested, the parts he could see anyway, Skagos looked as fearsome as all the stories said. As the _Merking's Daughter_ drew closer to the cliffs, Lucas could hear the seabirds call and see them flying overhead to their nests on the cliffs. Dotted along the rock face were caves, some small, some large enough to fit their little sloop. Joth himself had now taken the helm, and began to steer them towards the largest of the caves. The Great Cavern was immense, so tall that Lucas could swear the towers of Raventree Hall would fit underneath, so wide that three of Lord Manderly's great war galleys could sail in abreast. Along the near edge of the cave was a narrow pebble beach, on which lay huge seal-like creatures, but twice the size, and brown rather than grey. From their top jaws protruded foot-long white tusks. He asked a crewman about them.

"Walrus we call 'em. Fat and slow on land, but fearsome strong. You'll never catch 'em in the water. Good eating on them though, if you can get it. I'd stay away if I were you, bad-tempered bugger really."

Joth's deep, scratchy voice called to Lucas, "Ser Blackwood, here as far we can take her. Further and we run aground. We use little boats to beach."

As the crew lowered the landing boats into the water, Lucas saw to his men. The twenty Blackwoods and twenty Starks were all wrapped in Lord Manderly's warmest furs. There were also ten Ibbenese men, Joth's old whaler crew, who like their captain carried stout axes and shaggy brown shields.

Once they had landed on the beach, Joth called him over, "My men go first, try to clear way. Don't know when last used, will be slippery and treacherous. It is long climb, but once you reach top, keep walking along tunnel and wait outside. From there, should be able see Driftwood Hall."

"The seat of House Stane."

"Yes. Stanes are proud but poor. Fish-folk mostly, wear sealskins, and sometimes walrus. Don't stare, will take offence. Be courteous but do not flatter nor lie, will know if you do. Men been killed for less."

* * *

The climb had been difficult, but now they had reached the top. The landscape that spread out before him was unlike anything Lucas had ever seen before. The forest was blanketed by snow, but down in the valley, about half a day's march away, was a small clearing, in which sat a little village enclosed by a wooden palisade. At the center of the village was a small wooden keep on an earthen mound.

"Driftwood Hall." Joth announced.

"It's pathetic." One of the Blackwood men observed.

"Don't tell Stane that. Now, go slowly and quietly, but not secretly. Walk along forest track. Do not leave track. I warn you once. Do not leave track."

"What's going to happen? Are the wildlings going to cut my heart out and eat it?"

"You wish were so lucky." Joth muttered. He turned to Lucas, "You want the Skagosi fight with you? Must be persuasive, must have good reason before the do anything for you."

"Do we need to send someone ahead to announce us?"

"No, do not bother. They know we're here."

"How can you know that?"

"Because no outsider walks unseen on Skagos."

* * *

Lord Stane was an impressive man. He sat on a throne of driftwood in the centre of his hall, clad in a great walrus skin, the head of which rested on his head, the tusks pointing down on either side of his head, framing his face. He was the biggest man Lucas had ever seen, save The Mountain. At at least seven feet tall and broad to match, he seemed to be living proof of the rumours that the Skagosi had giant's blood. Clad in the only steel armour Lucas had seen since he had arrived on the island in the form of a vest of mail, in his right hand he held a mighty spear, and a great axe was across his back. Stane's hair and beard were long and light brown, and a pair of bushy eyebrows rested above his small black eyes. When he spoke, his voice sounded like stone breaking.

"Who are you, to come here under the banner of the wolf-lords?"

"My name is Ser Lucas of House Blackwood. My companion here is from Ibben."

"Him I know. He came here selling whale hide and flesh when my father ruled. His goods saw us through a hard winter. Welcome back." He turned back to Lucas, "You though, I am not sure about. Why have the wolf-lords suddenly decided that we are deserving of their attention?"

"Lord Robb Stark faces rebellion across his lands, from the Boltons and the Karstarks mainly."

"What does this have to do with us?"

"He requests your aid."

Stane laughed, and the whole room seemed to shake. "Your wolf-lord wants my help? Why should I help him? I have my own problems, my own enemies."

"You are sworn to the Starks -"

Stane's eyes flashed at this, "Do not presume to lecture me, southerner. Is it not also a liege lord's duty to protect his people? Where was the wolf-lord when the blue-eyed ones came, when the dead rose against us, when our own families rose from the grave to kill us in our sleep? Where was your wolf-lord then?"

"He knew nothing of this, and I am certain that as soon as his home is safe, he will come and help you."

"Bollocks, and you know it. I don't appreciate being lied to. Now tell me true, why should I bother?"

"Because once the North is secure, our forces will be united to destroy the forces of the dead. Reports have come down from the Wall, telling of wildlings fleeing south, fleeing the army of the dead. None of us believed them, we thought they were not real."

"Oh they're real enough. They took my youngest girl not a week ago. We lose three a night, sometimes more, six the night before last. But how do you kill the dead? With fire, and even that doesn't work on their leaders. I led a group of men out to fight them almost a moon's turn ago, only four of us came back, and that was only because of Skrama."

"Skrama, my lord?"

"My bear." Stane said it as if it was the most normal thing in the world.

"Your _bear_?"

"Yes, my ice-bear, raised him from a cub. You don't have those on the mainland?"

"No."

"They are loyal beasts, and you can ride them, if you train them well from when they're young."

"My lord, you were telling me about the wights?"

"Of course, the dead. They come every night now. My people are saying we must leave, but until now I knew not where to go. Now I do."

"You mean, you want to take all your people to the mainland?"

"Yes. We are not many, no more than seven hundred, including women and children."

"I have only one ship, how can we carry you across?"

"We have boats. Very well, knight. I shall sail with you to help the wolf-lord, and I shall try to convince Magnar and Crowl to do the same, but on conditions."

"Name it."

"Once the war is won, I want peace for my people, no interference from the wolf-lords. I want freedom to trade where we will and the ability to build ships, not the piddling boats they currently allow us. But most importantly, he will help us fight the blue-eyed demons. Do you agree to my terms?"

"I cannot speak for Lord Stark, but I promise you, I shall make sure he hears your terms and do my best to convince him."

"I suppose that's the best I can hope for. If he doesn't though, I shall be keeping your head on my fireplace after I cut it off, is that clear?"

"Perfectly, my lord."

"Then sit, drink. We must prepare to leave. I shall send a man to Magnar and Crowl at dawn."

"My lord, surely it would be better to send him now?"

"You really don't know anything of the dead do you? They only move at night. Being outside the village after dark is stupid, and will get you killed."

* * *

Three days later, Lucas stood at the top of the small keep, looking out over the gathered Skagosi. The keep was only two storeys high, and Lucas could see the gathered peoples clearly. Lords Magnar and Crowl had replied soon enough, and come to Driftwood Hall. It was their people who camped outside the palisade even now. He had been amazed that an entire people had been gathered so quickly, until Joth had explained to him that so little of Skagos was habitable, that the three main villages in which the people lived were all roughly a day's march from each other.

The Skagosi people were the strangest Lucas had ever encountered, and the differences between the three 'clans' were clear. A coastal people, living mainly off fishing and seals, the Stanes wore seal and walrus-skins, carried short spears and carried bone handled daggers and tusks. One man wore a helm made from a walrus' skull, another carried a pair of tusks he used as daggers, a third had a sea eagle sat on his shoulder. Lord Stane had told him the man was a skinchanger, as his lordship himself was. Stane rode the bear Skarma and controlled him with pure will. Skarma was an impressive beast, and he bore his rider with ease.

The Crowls were different. From the island's mountains, they lived in the village of Deepdown. Nestled in a tiny valley, between the peaks of three mountains, Deepdown was smaller than Driftwood. It's people however, were if possible, more isolated. They wore the skins of great mountain sheep and used their horns for everything from weapons to decorations. Riding obscure animals seemed to be a fashion on Skagos, as Lord Crowl, a dark-haired and coarse man, arrived mounted on a mountain ram, as did many of his warriors.

Last to arrive were the Magnars. Their home, Kingshouse, was deep in the darkest part of the forest, where they lived off boar and deer. They were the most numerous of the clans, and Lord Magnar was another skinchanger, his chosen animal being a huge black boar. He did not ride it, but it fought alongside him. Magnar was the oldest and smallest of the three lords, but still a big man at over six feet, with a scraggly blond beard and a helm made from what appeared to be a horse's skull, but with a singular, straight horn emerging from the forehead. He swore it was a unicorn, but Lucas knew they were a myth, at least, he knew that until one of Magnar's people brought a live one forward. It was a strange beast, smaller than a horse and a dirty white in colour, with a single horn a few inches long on it's head. The stories described them as noble beasts, pure white, whose horns were a foot long, and whose blood had magical powers. When he had asked about that, the man had laughed and turned away.

Each clan had a warrior caste, and only these were armed with anything resembling normal weaponry. Most carried iron, but some few bore steel. A few swords and axes, with the occasional leather shield or hauberk. They were the biggest men of the clans, and also carried light spears. Some also carried bows and quivers of arrows, but they were hunting bows rather than the longbows of the mainland.

Crowl and Magnar had agreed to Stane's proposal without too much disagreement, as in their more isolated homes, the death toll was even higher. More and more boats were being built daily in an attempt to get everyone away to safety sooner.

"We do not have the boats to get everyone across in one trip. It will take at least three." Stane was explaining.

"Then send women and children across first, with few boatloads of warriors, protect them. Then come back for others. My ship take fifty, more if need." Joth suggested.

"We must act quickly," Magnar said, "The first boatloads should go at dawn."

"I agree," said Stane.

"Agreed," growled Crowl.

* * *

When night fell, all the boats were as ready as they were going to be. The people for the first boats were ready to make the climb down into the caves to board their transports. After his arrival, Lucas had learned that each of the cliff caves housed many of the Stanes' fishing craft. Fires had been lit around the edge of the camps in an effort to ward off the dead, but the dense fog that had rolled in weakened their flames.

Then came the screams. Looking over to the far side of the camps, he saw them. Dark shapes moving in from the north, shuffling forwards in shambling ranks. Hearing the first sounds of the battle below him, he ran down from the palisade and found the lords at their drinking.

"They're attacking the camp!"

All three of them stared at him, until Crowl rose. "Right then, let's stick the bastards. With me knight, I'll get you a ram."

Before he knew better, Lucas was climbing onto the back of a mountain ram. One of Crowl's sons rode over and gave him a quick lesson. "Dig him in the ribs with your heels and he'll go, steer with the reins, be firm with him, or he'll smell your fear."

"It's like riding a horse then."

"What is a horse?" He thought the man was joking until he saw in his face that he was totally sincere. Of course he was, there were no horses on Skagos, and such limited contact with the outside world, it was more than likely that he had never heard of a horse, never mind seen one.

"Never mind. Let's go."

As it turned out, the ram was somewhat harder to handle than a horse, but Lucas managed to keep up with the others. The ram cavalry arrived on the edge of what had grown into a battle encompassing much of the northern side of the camp. Colliding with the ranks of the dead, they crushed many bodies, hacking down many more. Unable to keep control over his mount, Lucas was tossed just after the initial charge.

He fought on foot then, hacking at the shuffling corpses as they came at him. He managed to fight his way back to the tents, where Lord Magnar had managed to form up many of his warriors.

"Ah, wolf-knight, enjoying your first fight with the dead?"

"I don't see how any fight is enjoyable, with the dead or living."

"Then you're missing out. Here, grab a torch and burn any bodies. Come on lads!" Magnar roared and urged his men on, his boar running beside him.

In the chaos of the battle that followed, Lucas lost count of how many wights he cut down, how many bodies he burned. He found his men had formed a tight spearwall between two of the larger tents, and were holding off many times their own number. He joined them, and continued fighting. Just as they began to give ground, not through weakness, but the sheer mass of wights pushing them back, the pressure was taken off them by the arrival of Lord Stane. Skarma swatted two aside with his mighty paws, and crushed another in his jaws. Rearing onto his back, he pounded another into the snow. Stane sat astride the bear, long spear in one hand and his huge axe in the other, stabbing and hacking at the sea of bodies.

Eventually, they stopped coming. Lucas strode among the bodies, setting fire to each as he passed it. He saw Joth and his Ibbenese men, binding wounds and saying farewell to one of their own who had fallen. Then he saw the crowd gathered around, looking at a body. He rushed over, wondering if it was one of his men.

Lord Magnar lay on the ground, a dozen stab wounds in his chest and sides. Not far away, his boar's laboured breathing could be heard.

"His mind will pass to the boar," said Lord Crowl, "But the boar will soon die too."

"We must kill it and burn it," said another man, "We don't need that beast coming back to get us."

"Can they do that?" Lucas asked.

Crowl replied, "Yes. A wight bear came down on Deepdown not long before we came here, took two of my sons. I lost another one tonight. I've only got six left."

_Six sons. By the gods. _Lucas looked down at Magnar's body. "Who is Lord Magnar now?"

"No-one, his sons are dead too." Crowl whispered to him.

Raising his voice, Lucas called to the Magnars, "People of Kingshouse! Your Lord is dead! His sons are dead! We must burn the bodies. Lord's Stane and Crowl will command you until we have time to decide on a new lord for you."

"Who the fuck are you to decide that?" One man shouted.

"Someone who knows that we need to get off this island or die."

"I'll lead our people," he replied, "I'm a Magnar, his lordship's second cousin." He stepped forward, followed by a lynx. _Another skinchanger, is there no end to them?_

"Very well. Get what sleep you can, the first boats make for the mainland at dawn."


	78. Chapter 78: Shireen IV

_NOTE - I'm keeping them coming for now, so keep checking for updates. If you like, please review or PM me, I'd like to hear your thoughts. Enjoy!  
_

_Shireen_

She sat with her father and his wife in their solar. It was a quiet dinner, she had hoped the Queen would ask if she wanted to bring Rickon, but she hadn't. The silence in the room was a little uncomfortable, but Shireen had got used to it. Her father had always been a man of few words, even on his rare returns to Dragonstone from King's Landing, and her mother had refused to speak to her other than to scold her. She was used to the silence.

Queen Lara was not. She began to prompt conversation with Shireen.

"How is Rickon, my dear? I half expected him to be joining us."

"He is fine, I had wanted him to come, but Ser Marlon said he had to train."

Surprisingly, her father offered his opinion, "Ser Marlon is right. The boy wants to be a warrior, a knight, so he must train."

"And what would you know about being a knight, husband?" The joke in Lara's voice was clear, but Shireen worried that her father would miss it. _Be careful_.

"I was knighted after the Siege of Storm's End, I'll have you know. In the brief period before I became Lord Baratheon, I was Ser Stannis."

"I had no idea."

"Well, it was only a few months."

"Who knighted you, father?" Shireen asked.

"Ser Cortnay Penrose." His demeanour became grim. After he had relinquished control of Storm's End to Lord Swann, Ser Cortnay had been found in his chamber, his wrists opened. His suicide did not sit well with her father, who had strongly respected the man even though he had chosen Renly. He obviously did not want to dwell on the subject.

Picking up on this, the Queen tried to move the discussion on, "Have you decided who the new castellan will be?"

"There are three possibles, Ser Richard Horpe, Ser Justin Massey and Ser Corliss Penny, Penrose's second. Penny is a good man, but not as capable as the other two. Massey and Horpe, I have yet to choose between them."

"Ser Richard's loyalty to you is absolute, as Ser Cortnay's was to Renly. That is the sort of man you want as a castellan. Ser Justin strikes me as too...superficial."

"You may be right, my Queen. I shall give it some thought."

The conversation died off again as the three of them focused on eating. After a short while, Shireen plucked up enough courage to ask, "Have you thought of a name for the baby, your Grace?"

"Please Shireen, you need not call me that, and yes, I have had some thoughts."

Stannis looked up, "That's news to me."

"Well I wanted to tell you both at the same time. These are not definite, just ideas. I was thinking if it's a boy, we should call him Steffon."

Shireen looked at her father. Stannis' usual grim facade slipped and he smiled. She knew he had hero worshipped his father Lord Steffon. "And if it's a girl?"

"Cassana."

* * *

She sat watching Rickon beat the other squires as she did once a week. Her handmaids, Marya Sunglass and Wylla Manderly ever came with her. Aside from Rickon, Marya and Wylla were her only real friends, and both of them were recent arrivals in the city. Shireen had finally had enough of her old handmaids when she had caught them systematically coating one of her dresses in an itching powder. She had quietly asked Queen Lara if some replacements could be found quietly and it had been done. The three of them watched Rickon flatten first Torrhen Locke, the only other Northern boy and Rickon's best friend, then one of the Walders. Ser Marlon egged each of them on in turn, but none of them could touch Rickon. She was so proud of him.

Now their betrothal was official, he wore a thin strip of yellow cloth openly on his upper shield arm. A few eyebrows had been raised at first, but it had set a new trend amongst the squires. Shireen knew that each of her handmaids had been approached, as had many other young ladies of the court. Wylla's favour currently rested on the shoulder of Alyn Blackwood, Lord Blackwood's fifth son, while Marya's was held by Torrhen Locke. The only squires not to have favours were the two Freys.

Mychel Redfort was the next to face Rickon. He wore the favour of his betrothed, Ysilla Royce, on his shoulder. Mychel was the only one of the squires who had beaten Rickon in the past. As the two of them circled, Ser Marlon stopped them.

"Enough of this lads. We'll try something else." He unhooked a pouch from his belt. "In here are thirty gold dragons. I shall place it on the ground here, and Stark, Blackwood and Redfort will protect it. The rest of you will try and get it. It's five on three gentlemen. You shall need to work as a team."

Little Walder Frey spat, "If we get it, the gold will be split between us, that's six each. If they win, they'll get ten each. That's unfair that is."

"All the more reason for you to get hold of it Frey. Any other questions?"

"Why are there so many of them?" Mychel asked.

"Because in a real battle, you will be more likely to have to face two or three men at once, not just one."

"How do we win?" asked Rickon.

"You need to hold them off until the sand runs out in the glass." Ser Marlon produced a small hourglass, "You will have to hold for ten minutes."

"That's not very long."

"It will be longer than you think, don't be arrogant. Now take your places. Remember, once you are down, you are out, and only those standing at the end get any share in the prize."

Rickon, Alyn and Mychel stood on one side, facing the others. Big Walder, Little Walder, Torrhen Locke, Roger Rykker and Lucos Chyttering were lined up opposite. Lucos Chyttering was actually the head of his house, despite being only fourteen, as his father had been killed fighting for Stannis in the Westerlands against Tywin Lannister. He was a pimply youth, but was always nice to Shireen. He was a direct contrast to Roger Rykker who, while quite handsome, had inherited his father's lecherous leers and wandering hands.

Ser Marlon clapped his hands together, and they began. The Freys were first in, and they were repulsed with relative ease, Rickon and Alyn defeating Little Walder, while Mychel tripped Big Walder. As the Freys stood up, Marlon scolded them for being stupid and not working with the rest of their team, sending them off to watch the rest from the sidelines. It was now three on three. The groups clashed again, though the results were more equal as Roger and Alyn were defeated. Rykker was shoulder-slammed by Rickon, while Alyn was overwhelmed by a withering storm of attacks from Lucos.

As Shireen watched, she absent mindedly stroked Shaggydog's head. The wolf always sat with her while Rickon was training.

Wylla had gasped as Alyn hit the floor, and appeared genuinely distraught until he sat up, shook his head and began to walk off. Marya had given up any semblance of supporting Rickon on her Princess' behalf and now cheered Torrhen on. Shireen would have shouted for Rickon, but she was too self-conscious for that sort of thing. She began to wonder how she would ever sit on the Iron Throne and hold court if she was too scared to cheer at a tourney. She was so lost in her thoughts that she missed the rest of the bout, only seeing a victorious Rickon and Mychel sharing out their winnings. One they had counted out fifteen each, they both put aside three and gave them to Alyn.

Little Walder objected to this, "Blackwood got beat, he shouldn't get any of the prize."

Ser Marlon shrugged, "Stark and Redfort won, they can do what they like with their winnings." The knight turned his back and began to walk off.

"I'll see about that." Walder hefted his practice sword, "I'll take some of that gold too, wild boy."

Rickon's eyes narrowed, "I don't think you will."

"Maybe I'll make you give me some." Walder grinned. He beckoned to Big Walder, who joined him. "That'll be ten each for the both of us, wildling."

"I don't think so, I've only got twelve. Counting obviously isn't a Frey's strong point, maybe you should stick to something you are good at, like betraying your friends."

"How dare you?" Big Walder raised his sword and cracked Rickon over the head. Rickon had left his sword on the yard where he and Mychel had been counting their winnings, so had nothing to block the next blow, which came down on his ribs.

"Stop it!" Shireen shouted.

"Shut up freak!" Little Walder growled.

"What did you call her?" Rickon's voice was low. He climbed to his feet. "What did you call her?"

"I called her a freak.A fucking scarface freak." The Frey boy's smile grew wider, "Come on then wild boy, just you, me, Big Walder and Rykker."

Roger Rykker looked on, "Oh no, I'm not getting involved in this."

"I am," said Alyn Blackwood.

"Me too," echoed Torrhen.

The two other squires walked over and stood beside Rickon. Little Walder's confidence appeared shaken, "Mychel, get over here."

"Piss off traitor." Redfort joined Rickon.

"Lucos?"

"He's right, Frey. All you lot are good for is bullying, and if you think I'm siding with you, you really are thick as pigshit." Chyttering spat on the ground in front of Walder before joining the others.

Roger Rykker sat casually on the sidelines. "I'm quite happy to sit here and watch."

"Coward."

"I prefer to call it wise."

"What is going on here?" Ser Marlon had returned.

Little Walder lept on the oppurtunity to get his side in first, "They called us traitors! We didn't do anything, it was Ryman, not us! We weren't there!"

"Is this true?"

Rickon replied, "Only half-right. Yes, I called him a traitor, but only after he and his brother beat me, and he called the Princess a 'fucking scarface freak'."

The other boys collaborated his story, apart from Rykker, who said nothing. Ser Marlon turned back to the Freys.

"You boys are lucky his grace wasn't here, you know what happened to Axell Florent when he insulted the Princess. If he'd do that to his late wife's uncle, think what he'd to do a pair of measly shits like you. Get out of my sight."

Rickon challenged him, "You're just going to let them get away with it?"

"For now. But I'll be keeping my eye on them. You're right though lad, the Freys are all treacherous bastards."


	79. Chapter 79: Kevan XI

_NOTE -Sorry its been a while, haven't been well, but here it is, finally. Enjoy!  
_

_Kevan_

Lord Kevan Lannister's return to Casterly Rock was quite and unannounced in the dead of the night. He didn't want the rebels to know he had come back. Leaving his cousin Damon at court to represent his interests, he, his sons and Tommen had ridden hard, with a small guard, to reach the Rock with all speed. Their small entourage four knights, Sers Lyle, Robert, Flement and Steffon, and ten guardsmen. The rest of the men were to follow on in three days, with the baggage and his son's wives and their ladies. Kevan had actually been surprised at how much Tommen had grown since he had sent him away from King's Landing with Joffrey. He swore he had not missed a day's training since he had left the capital, even when his mother forbade it. His stand against both his parents in the Throne Room on the day of the trial had been totally unexpected, at least by Kevan, though he had a sneaking suspicion that the King had planned it. Tommen had been very close to Myrcella, and it had taken a different sort of courage to confront his father like that. As for Ser Jaime, after the trial, he became despondent, and when Kevan went to see him off for the Wall, he brought Tommen with him.

"Tommen," Jaime had not been able to bring himself to look at his son.

"Father," Tommen smiled, "Myrcella said she was glad you were our father, not the King. I am too."

Jaime looked confused, "But why?"

"Mother said you never wanted power, that you wouldn't become Hand of the King when she asked. Well, neither do I, and now I'm not a Prince, I'll never have to rule."

Jaime looked right at his son, "My son. I am sorry. Not for what I did with your mother, because without that I wouldn't have you. I am sorry I was never a father to you."

Kevan had left the two of them to their goodbyes, but when Jaime's ship left, he saw a small tear in the corner of Tommen's eye. The lad was his father's son, as Myrcella had been his daughter. Luckily, the only one of their children who took after Cersei was Joffrey, and they would soon be dealt with.

* * *

Kevan gathered his commanders and leading knights in the Great Hall, and prepared to hear their reports. As well as Kevan himself, his sons and Tommen, Genna was also present, as were her husband Ser Emmon Frey, Lord Daven Lannister, Lord Clegane, The Strongboar, Lords Brax, Jast and Serrett, and his own good-father Ser Harys Swyft.

He had left Daven in charge of his forces, so heard his report first.

"News from Crakehall my lord, the castle was taken without much of a struggle. It appears that it's capture was more of an attempt by Willas Tyrell to amass some sort of military success after his fleet got smashed by the Ironborn after Fair Isle. Lord Roland writes that cousin Luceon led the assault, and was the first man to die. Crakehall is marching to join us with a few hundred men, Crakehall and Lannister."

"Excellent, a shame about Luceon though. Emmon, you have been in charge of rebuilding the fleet, how goes it?"

Emmon had the stoat-like look characteristic of his house, and throughout Tywin's rule, Kevan had believed him an imbecile. It turned out that Emmon had just been the subject of Tywin's continued hatred of the Freys, as they reminded him of his father's stupidity. Emmon had been tasked with repairing the fleet during the Reyne-Tarbeck rebellion also, though a larger task stood before him now.

"We have cleared much of the wreckage from the harbour, and begun work on four new war galleys, I was wondering if you would like to name them?"

"Not while there are other more important matters to deal with, bring the details to my solar tonight."

"As you say, my lord." Emmon inclined his head.

"Now, onto the matter of these rebels, what news?"

Lord Serrett spoke first, "My lord, they have been appealing to each House in turn for more support. I myself received an offer of three hundred thousand dragons and a marriage to Lord Lefford's daughter Alysanne to turn on you."

"I thank you for your loyalty, Humphrey. I know Leo Lefford is the main leader, who else is there?"

"Rolph Spicer, who believes because he is now Lord of Castamere, thanks to your brother, has been the most vocal. The man is no lord, barely a knight, the son of an upjumped merchant." Lord Serrett's disdain was clear.

The Hound also replied, "Lydden has taken command of their troops. Had a clash with a cavalry column not two days ago. We beat the bastards but Lydden won't give up. He's a stubborn fucker, and fierce, but no imagination."

Kevan thought back to the Battle of the Pass, when Lydden's men had rolled up Lord Florent's flank and almost cost Stannis the battle. Lydden had also been the orchestrator of the riverbank ambush which had turned a hostage exchange into a slaughter, and become Tywin's second once Kevan had gone to King's Landing. It seemed that with the loss of The Mountain, Tywin had needed a new mad dog, and he had chosen the Badger of Deep Den.

"Are they still besieging my home?" Lord Jast asked Clegane.

"As of our latest reports yes, but the fucker won't let our scouts close enough to get a decent look at their numbers."

"Rest easy Antario we march the day after tomorrow," Kevan said, "We have a marriage alliance now, my lord, and I do not abandon my allies."

"That's just it Kevan, Lefford says you did. Says that Tywin didn't cast you out, that you left of your own accord and turned on us." Ser Harys told him.

"I didn't, Tywin cast me out."

"We know that, but many others don't. Why do you think Banefort, Drox and the others haven't come? They dare not defy Stannis, but don't know if you speak the truth."

"When Lefford and Lydden are crushed, we shall see. We march tomorrow, anything else my lords?"

Genna spoke up, "Kevan, a man arrived here three days ago, claiming you had sent for him, he had the letter to prove it, with your seal."

"Who?"

"He says his name is Ser Roland Reyne. I don't believe him, but he had a summons from you so I gave him decent quarters."

"Thank you Genna, could you have someone send him to my solar this afternoon, around the third hour?"

"Of course."

"Good. We are done here I think. Dismissed my lords."

* * *

He went to Dorna first. All through their married life, his wife had been uncomfortable at Casterly Rock. Over time, this grew to a longing to escape, and eventually Kevan had caved and asked Tywin if she might go back to her family home at Cornfield. Tywin had taken some convincing, as he believed that now she was wed to a Lannister, Casterly Rock was her home, and refused to hear a bad word said about the Rock. However, after she became seriously ill following Janei's birth, he had relented, and Dorna had returned home, taking Janei with her. That had been five years ago, and Kevan had seen his wife and daughter fewer than a dozen times since.

He had received a letter from Genna telling him Dorna had arrived with her father and his troops. Kevan had been pleasantly surprised by this news, especially when he learned that Janei had come with her. He had not seen his daughter since before the war, and wondered how much she had grown. He knew what others thought of his wife, Tywin had said that he was marrying beneath himself, and he had overheard Cersei describe her as 'chinless, chicken-legged and flat-chested'. He did not listen to what people said, because he loved Dorna, he had done since her father gave her to him as a hostage when he couldn't pay his debts. She was sweet, kind and caring, and a doting mother, with a passion for needlework and flowers, and she prayed seven times a day. An innocent soul she was, and not suited to the confines of court, only happy when surrounded by friends and family. As for Janei, she had inherited the Lannister good looks, and it was clear that she would become an outstanding beauty in time. Kevan knew she would have to fight off suitors, but he did not dwell on that now, she was only six after all. Born late in their lives, Janei had been a miracle for Dorna, who had always dreamed of a daughter. After three sons, and each pregnancy and birth getting increasingly hard, Kevan had worried that Dorna would not make it through. But she had, as had Janei, and though it had taken her months to recover, Dorna had made it. She had always been fragile, prompting many to call her weak, but Kevan knew she was strong, just in a different way.

As Kevan entered their shared chambers, he found her sat on the large four-poster bed staring at her needlework.

"Everything alright dear?" he asked as he hung his cloak on the stand behind the door.

"I've lost my thread." She replied, not looking up.

"I'm sure it will reappear."

"It will."

The two of them sat in silence until Dorna let out a small cry of victory before tying off and putting her work down.

"I was surprised to find you here, my dear."

"Janei wanted to see you, and I wanted to see my boys."

"I shall go to Janei later, and I shall send Willem and Martyn to you. You will be so proud of them, I am. Both are now knights, Willem was dubbed by the King himself!"

"Yes, and now he is your heir." Dorna looked up at him and he saw the tear roll down her cheek.

"Yes, my dear. Willem is the heir to the Rock."

"Why did they kill him, Kevan? He was my boy. My first boy."

"In cold blood, murdered to do nothing more than to cause trouble. Those responsible were tried and executed."

"I don't care about that. I want by boy back. No child for so long and then...he was so beautiful. My little boy."

Kevan walked over to the bed and put his arms around her, "He is in the crypt, Martyn brought him home from the capital. Go and see him."

"I will, as soon as I have seen the boys."

* * *

At the third hour, their was a rap on the door of his solar, and the guard called out, "Ser Artos is outside, with a knight."

"Send them in."

As the door opened, Ser Artos and the man claiming to be Roland Reyne stepped in. Kevan sat behind his heavy oak desk, with Willem and Martyn standing behind him. Ser Artos was now the Rock's Captain of Guard, his predecessor, a man named Vylarr, having chosen to take the black rather than remain. Reyne certainly had the look of that ancient family, dark red hair and a short red beard framing his square jaw.

"You claim to be the lost son of Roger Reyne, the Red Lion of Castamere."

"I am, my lord."

"You will be aware that I played a part in the extinction of that house, why would I have any interest in restoring it?"

"Because the current Lord of Castamere is rebelling against you."

"Rolph Spicer is a thug, not a lord."

"But he holds Castamere."

"He does. How do I know you are who you say you are?"

"Because I am my father's son. They say I look just like him."

"Looks prove nothing, but listen. You are right that I need rid of the Spicers. If you serve me well in securing my hold on the Westerlands, and you and yours swear loyalty to me and mine for as long as both our lines last, then upon the removal of Rolph Spicer, I shall restore you to Castamere, as a knight, not a lord."

"You would keep my house indistinguished?"

"There is no shame in being a member of a knightly house. I married into such a house, my sons carry that blood in their veins."

"There is shame for a Reyne. We were once the mightiest house in the Westerlands."

"Second mightiest. House Lannister did beat you after all."

"That they did, my lord. But I must request that I become Lord of Castamere."

"I refuse. I cannot completely undo the work of my brother, or risk losing what support I have. You will become the Knight of Castamere, if you serve me well. Accept or return to the Disputed Lands."

"Very well, my lord, I accept."

"Kneel."

* * *

Kevan was standing on the balcony of his chambers, looking out over the sea towards the setting sun, when he shivered. The nights were getting colder, even in the south. There was a sharp knock on his door as he returned inside.

"Come!"

A guard opened the door and announced, "Lord Marbrand and his son are outside, they wish an audience."

"Marbrand?" _What the hell is he doing here? _"Send him in."

Kevan had just managed to sit down when Lord Damon and Ser Addam entered. Addam looked rather worse for wear, with extensive bandaging on his left arm.

"My lord, I must say after reading your letter I did not expect to see you."

Damon smiled, "Nor did I cousin, but my son returned and explained everything to me. He vouches for you as the rightful Lord of the Westerlands, and that is good enough for me. I have brought my levies with me, they are now camped five miles to the east."

"Excellent. Thank you Ser Addam. How went your mission?"

"We got your family away easily, but one of the Viper's daughters killed Myrcella. Tommen fought well in the ambush, though."

"This I heard from Ser Lyle. He said that you had remained to find Tyrion and Sansa."

"I did. Sansa refused to leave with me when I found her, and the Imp was gone by the time I infiltrated Sunspear. Then I was captured." Kevan listened intently as Addam told him of his time in Dorne, from the hunt for Sansa and Baelish to Nymeria's assassination attempt in the Prince's Pass.

"So, Sansa is to marry Willas Tyrell? That does not seem to make any sense."

"It does when you consider the Martell plan. The plan which Nymeria was ordered to kill me because I knew."

"Do not hold me in suspense, Marbrand."

"Even now the Martell army stands in the Boneway, waiting to march north. They are waiting for the arrival of two more armies in Westeros. One consisting of Unsullied, mercenaries and free companies from Meereen under the command of Daenerys Targaryen, the other made up of the Golden Company and the Longspears, a Dornish mercenary company, lead by Aegon Targaryen."

"Gods. Wait, Aegon Targaryen? He was killed by Gregor Clegane."

"No. Varys switched the babes. The Spider, the Viper and the Imp are now with this Aegon, and are bringing him back to Westeros."

"Seven help us. The dragons. But this makes no sense, where does Sansa Stark fit in this?"

"The marriage between Willas and Sansa will make Lord Stark think twice before committing to fighting his sister. Plus it is a good match, arranged by the Queen of Thorns herself."

"No, I mean, why are the Tyrells involved at all?"

"My lord, Quentyn Martell is to marry Margaery Tyrell. The Tyrell army, all eighty thousand, is camped outside Highgarden, including the houses which supposedly bent the knee after the Battle of King's Landing. The Tyrells will declare for the Targaryens!"

"Then we shall be hard pressed. The Reach and Dorne's armies are practically untouched, while those loyal to the King are battle-weary and with winter coming..."

"We must warn the King."

"Yes. I will send a raven, immediately. Then we must needs secure the West, and prepare to defend against the south."

"My lord, we are too weak to invade the Reach."

"Who said anything about invading? If the Targaryens come, the Tyrells will march north, and attempt to subdue us. I will remain loyal to my King, so we will fight. Thank you for this my lords, as you leave, tell the guard to have Ser Artos Brax pass the word that we march tomorrow."

"Where to?"

"Castle Jast. It is past time we dealt with Lefford and Lydden."


	80. Chapter 80: Andrew IV

_NOTE - Here we are, another one in Essos. Thanks to all those who keep reviewing and leaving very flattering comments. IN answer to one guest review regarding Cersei's out-of-character revelation to Tommen - bear with me, all will be revealed. Or will it? Please follow, favourite and review. Enjoy!  
_

_Andrew_

Andrew rode beside Ser Barristan and Ser Jorah as they marched out of Meereen. While the freed people of the city may not be glad to see her leave, Daenerys Targaryen was now set on returning home. She had allies in Westeros now, eighty thousand of them, and no further reason to delay. She had wed Ser Loras, with such haste as to be distasteful in Andrew's eyes, and now was determined to reclaim her throne. Andrew had spoken to her and her council on this and their reactions had been varied. Grey Worm didn't really care who sat on the Iron Throne, he would serve her and only her, Iron Throne or not. Ser Barristan had, surprisingly, joined Andrew in saying that Aegon should rule, as he was the legitimate air, and anything else would result in another Dance of Dragons. Edric too, had agreed with this, though his inclusion on the council was purely a courtesy, coming from him being the only one aside from the Queen who had any measure of control over any of the dragons. Jorah and Daario however, had insisted that she must be Queen, a stance which she herself favoured for obvious reasons. Despite their agreement, Mormont and the sellsword disagreed on why she should be Queen. Jorah did it out of loyalty, sheer determined, bloody minded, unquestioning loyalty, and out of love. Andrew had picked up on that rather quickly, it was not exactly secret. The looks of glowing adoration he gave her were neither subtle nor secret. Naharis however, had alternate reasons, upon which he refused to elaborate, though Andrew was pretty sure it was so he would be fucking the Queen of Westeros.

Andrew got on well with Ser Barristan, though the old man's inflexible discipline and moral dignity refused and of the more interesting political discussions. Mormont was worse. He obviously did not trust Andrew, or Loras or Edric for that matter, but of course he didn't, he was a Northerner. Andrew looked forward at Loras, riding beside the Queen at the head of the mounted party which formed the centre of the column. The knight had turned down the title Prince and managed to put a brave face on his new marriage. He and Andrew had spoken of the bedding the next morning. Loras had been rather shell-shocked, and he used the word 'demanding' far more than Andrew thought was healthy. The Tyrell had obviously had a hellish experience, and Andrew pitied him.

The Great Gates of Meereen swung open, and the first ranks of the Unsullied began to move off. Behind the Unsullied was the Queen and her party, then her companies of free men, the Mother's Men and the Stalwart Shields, and then the Second Sons. Edric was not with them. He was part of the final party trick that Daenerys had planned for her departure. As the tail of her column left the Great Gates, there came a roar from the Great Pyramid. Rhaegal and Viserion appeared at the summit, and tearing down the huge stone harpy, threw themselves into the air, spouting flame. Rhaegal was clearly in the lead, Viserion holding back somewhat. It looked as if it was working. The plan had been that if Rhaegal flew in one direction, Viserion would follow, and so far he was doing just that. The army waited for the two beasts three miles from the city. As the Unsullied and companies formed ranks on the wide plain, the Queen had a tent erected to await her children. She had named Selmy the commander of her forces, and given him a splendid suit of white armour, a white cloak and a white stallion. As he rode up and down the ranks, checking formations, Andrew went with him. Barristan had named him one of his lieutenants, along with Grey Worm, Daario and the commanders of the free companies.

"How many men do we actually have Ser Barristan?"

"Eight thousand Unsullied, two thousand in each of the free companies, five hundred horse from the Stormcrows."

"Ten thousand. It's not enough."

"We have dragons, three."

"One."

"I beg your pardon?"

"We have one dragon. Viserion is uncontrollable and Drogon has not been seen in weeks. Edric has only ridden Rhaegal once before today, I would not rest all our hopes on dragons."

"No. As much as I would like to, we do not have that luxury. The problem is getting her Grace to see that. Now she has wed Tyrell she believes she can conquer all Westeros. Until those troops have joined us we must plan as if they are not going to."

"She needs to stop bedding the sellsword."

"I quite agree, but what can we do? We need the Stromcrows, they are our only horse, and Daario commands them."

"For now."

"I will not discuss what you suggest."

Luckily Andrew was saved any further scalding by the noisy arrival of two dragons near the pavilion. The two knights put spurs to their horses and returned to the Queen. Once they arrived, Rhaegal and Viserion were feasting upon the flesh of cows which had been thrown to them by some Unsullied. The Queen stood by Viserion, who seemed quite content with her presence. She placed her hand on his scales,

"Well done, my child." She moved towards Rhaegal to do the same, but the dragon responded to her movement with a low growl. When she continued and touched him, he looked up from his meal and growled at her.

"No." She said.

Rhaegal responded with a roar, causing the Queen to back off.

As Ser Jorah pulled her away, she turned to Edric, "Why did he do that? I'm his mother!"

Jorah spoke quietly, "It would appear that once a dragon has chosen a rider, his mother loses her importance."

The Queen glared at the knight, then at Edric, "You stole my child from me."

"You gave him to me, Your Grace, when you tried to feed me to him. I would say that was your fault." Edric had grown confident during his bonding with Rhaegal, as evidence by the manner in which he spoke to the Queen.

Ser Edric Storm moved to stand by the green dragon, placing an armoured gauntlet on his snout as he ripped flesh from the cow's ribs. He too had recieved lavish gifts from the Queen, including a full suit of armour, over which he wore the surcoat that Illyrio had given him, of his Baratheon bastard sigil. He had a helm in the fashion of his father's with antlers atop it, though they were not as grand as Robert's had been. Across his back was a great hammer he had found in Meereen's armoury. Upon first seeing him dressed like this, Ser Barristan had declared that he looked just as Robert had during the Rebellion, except with a dragon.

As Edric had closer to Rhaegal, Daenerys seemed to become increasingly jealous, understandably. After all, her dragon had flown off and not been seen for weeks. Her Grace also began to fret about finding a rider for Viserion, but knew there was nothing she could do. He would choose someone in his own time, if ever.

Leaving the dragons to their feasting, they gathered in the pavilion. Andrew elaborated on the plan once more.

"We march for Volon Therys, join up with Aegon and the Golden Company and sail on the Volantene fleet to the Stormlands."

"How do we know the Volantene's will give us their fleet?"

"It's that or we take their city, and I don't think they'll choose that option, not when three dragons appear."

Jorah grunted, "We have only two."

Her Grace's eyes flashed, "Drogon will return."

Andrew coughed, "As I was saying. Once in the Stormlands, we join the Martell army which will march north up the Boneway, while the Tyrell army moves on the Westerlands. The Lannisters have been at war for a long time, they will surrender without much of a fight. Once they are on our side too, only Stannis himself will provide an meaningful opposition."

"A solid plan." Ser Jorah rumbled.

"What about Aegon? How do we convince him to give up his claim to my throne?" The Queen asked, her face was a mask of innocence, but there was fire in her eyes.

"Your Grace, I do not believe you can." Andrew winced as he delivered this truth.

"What did you say?"

"I said that you may have to give up your claim to the Iron Throne, for the good of your family."

"I will give you chance to explain yourself before I feed you to my dragons."

"Aegon's claim to the Iron Throne is better than yours. He is Rhaegar's son. With all respect Your Grace, he will also be more popular with the lords of the Seven Kingdoms. His father was universally admired until the Rebellion and loved by all. Your father was a murderous lunatic, and they will tar you with the same brush."

"What did you say about my father? You will regret those words ser."

"If you feed me to the dragons, you will prove them right." Andrew looked around at the others present, "Will no-one but me speak sense? Your Grace, you cannot go on dishing out arbitrary threats and executions, or they will label you mad as they did Aerys, and Stannis will win without raising a finger. You must prove to them that you are not mad or brutal or cruel."

"My father was not mad." She glared at everyone in the pavilion, "Someone tell him."

All those present kept their silence, before Ser Barristan spoke quietly, "Your Grace, he was. Not at the beginning, but by the end, he was mad. I watched him descend into lunacy, and to my shame I did nothing. I watched as he burned people alive and became aroused by their screaming and the smell of their flaming corpses. I stood guard as he abused your mother, as he burned Rickard Stark and as Brandon Stark choked to death trying to save his father. Aerys was mad, your Grace, and you will spend your entire life trying to escape his shadow."

She looked defeated, "Viserys always said he was slandered and it was all lies. I suspected he was wrong, but when I saw what he was, I began to realise. I did not want to believe it."

Andrew pressed on, "Your Grace, as Ser Barristan says, you will have to escape his shadow. It will be hard, but it is achievable. You must begin by trusting us to be honest. Your father's Small Council always feared to be honest as if he didn't like the truth, the man who told it often met with fire. If we cannot advise you honestly, we are useless to you, and you will fail without us."

He watched her as she seemed to grow angry, but she fought it back, "Very well, speak honestly ser."

"You cannot burn anyone, or feed anyone to your dragons, not in Westeros. You do that once, and every single man in the Seven Kingdoms will condemn you, and you will be lost. No execution without cause, either. You cannot just have someone killed because they speak the truth, as they see it, as you just threatened me with."

"Have a care you do not lecture the Queen, ser." Mormont growled.

"Someone has to, and you are too busy mooning over her to do so!" Andrew lost his temper. As Jorah reached for his sword, he raised his hands, "I am sorry, that was uncalled for." He addressed everyone present. "I am the only one here who has any idea of what is happening in Westeros, if you do not trust me, what good am I?"

Ser Loras finally said something, "He is right. You should listen to him. No burnings."

"I disagree," a deep voice echoed from the rear of the tent. Moqorro stepped forward, "Death by fire is the cleanest death, any man who dies by your orders must be given to the dragons. The Lord of Light demands it."

"My Queen, must this heretic stay with us?" Ser Barristan asked, "I do not trust him, or his god."

"Moqorro stays." She had grown quite fond of the big priest, something which Andrew believed was the cause of her increasing impetuosity and obsessive threats and violence.

"Thank you Your Grace." Moqorro said, "Ser Estermont is right that you must go to Westeros, but first you must commit yourself to the Lord, burn a traitor before you sail, and the Lord of Light will grant you good winds across the Narrow Sea."

"You speak of human sacrifice! Barbarian! Your Grace, I will not remain here and listen to this witchcraft!" Ser Barristan picked up his shield and walked out to his troops. Ser Loras and Edric followed.

Andrew sighed, she could rule, but would need good advisors. Some she had, Barristan and himself, Loras and even Mormont, but she was surrounded by those who sought to use her for her own purposes. Grey Worm would never argue with her or speak a hard truth, obviously a side effect of being a ball-less wonder. The gods only knew what Moqorro wanted, and Naharis...he would have to go. If Barristan would not help him, he would do it. Sleeping with the sellsword captain would destroy her, and he would not let that happen.


	81. Chapter 81: Tommen

_NOTE - Second one today, and a new POV character. Enjoy!  
_

_Tommen_

When his Uncle Kevan's army marched at dawn, he rode with them. After two hours, the Lannister family and the commanders took up position on a small rise at the side of the road and watched the army move past. The Westerlands had been battered by so long a war, but many banners still flew over the marching column. As well as his uncle's twin silver lions there was the brindled boar of Crakehall, the blue cockerel of Swyft, the unicorn of Brax, Lord Jast's lion heads, Lord Serrett's peacock, the three dogs of Clegane, the golden lion of Lannister of Lannisport, spears, arrows, ships, and now Lord Marbrand flaming tree. Other houses had said they would follow Marbrand's lead, but they had not come, in fact one, House Greenfield, had cast its lot in with Lord Lefford.

He felt at home. With an army on the march, life was simpler, no politics or people manipulating him for their own ends. He had always known he was a political tool used by his mother, but had been unable to do anything about it. Then his Uncle Kevan had taken him as his squire, and h had resolved to be a warrior and a knight, like Jaime his uncle, no, his father. Then there had been Dragonstone, where he had seen his first battle, and he had fought in King's Landing against Renly and Stannis. Then he had been sent away, aboard a ship with his mother and monster of a brother. There he had found out about his father.

Myrcella had figured it out, and she told him. She had said he mustn't tell anyone, or they would both be killed. Then she had died anyway, when his Uncle Kevan confirmed it, Tommen decided that his parents would pay for his sister's death. It was their fault. If they hadn't played their stupid game of thrones then Cella would still be alive. So when Uncle Kevan had asked, he had agreed to denounce them publicly in the trial, provided that his father was not killed. His father was not as bad as his mother, he never wanted power like she did, he didn't deserve to die. Tommen felt guilt for him being sent to the Wall, but not for his mother and brother's impending deaths. But none of them could ever know why he had done it, o rhe would go the same way. He loved Myrcella, had for as long as he could remember. Sometimes it had been as brothers and sisters do love each other, but sometimes it was different, and she had felt it too. She had told him never to tell, that no-one would understand, and they would be despised and hunted. Cella had asked him not to tell, so he hadn't, and he wouldn't. But she was taken from him by their mother, and he had done his part to avenge her.

He had taken to calling himself Tommen Waters, he was a bastard after all, born in the Crownlands. He had also asked his uncle for a new surcoat, gold with a red lion. Uncle Kevan had offered him a surcoat of the twin silver lions, but Tommen knew what he was. A bastard. The funny thing was, he didn't care about that, or that he would inherit nothing. He had lost his sister, so what was a name or a throne? He would take up the offer of a home at the Rock, but he didn't know if he would ever marry, if he could ever face it. He was young he knew, many would say too young to be considering celibacy, but what else was there for him now? His sword, and service to his family. He was not a Lannister, but they were his blood, and it was his duty to serve his lord.

* * *

He had been given a tent of his own in the midst of the Lannister family tents. His cousins had gone out of his way to make him welcome, and he did appreciate it. He had never really had any friends, his mother made sure of that. He only ever saw Myrcella and Joffrey, and occasionally his whipping-boy Pate. Other than them, until he became a squire, his mother was his only human contact. He had had his kittens though. Lady Whiskers and Boots had been lost in the Battle of King's Landing, but Ser Pounce had stowed away in their baggage, somehow survived all their mishaps, and had been found a new home at Casterly Rock. Though Willem and Martyn were kind to him and his only friends, he didn't really want to talk to anyone. He wanted Cella back. He wanted to be alone.

He was fourteen, the same age his father had been when he fought the Kingswood Brotherhood and was knighted. Would he be knighted in the coming fight? He doubted it. His father was far better than he would ever be. He was beginning to wonder if he would ever be distinguished by anything other than his mother when the trumpets began to sound. He pushed his head out of his tent and asked a passing rider,

"What is it?"

"Lords Lefford, Spicer and Greenfield have come to parley."

"Right." Buckling on his sword, he ran to the command tent where his uncle's commanders were gathering. The usual faces were mixed in with a few of the newer arrivals, Lord Marbrand and his son, and Lord Drox, who had brought two hundred men to Lord Lannister's banner. His uncle at behind a heavy oak desk, with Lord Brax on one side and Lord Jast on the other, while the rest of the men, including Tommen, crowded the edge of the room.

When the three rebel lords entered, the atmosphere was tense. They refused the proffered chairs, but did eat and drink, securing their guest right. Lefford began the discussion straight away.

"We have heard that Ser Jaime is bound for the Wall."

"He is. It was all I could do to stop the King cutting his head off."

"With Jaime taking the black, Casterly Rock passes to Cersei."

"She is condemned."

"Joffrey then."

"Him too."

"The boy then." Tommen was acutely aware of all eyes turning to him. "I can't inherit," he said, "I am a bastard."

Greenfield cursed, "You've worked this out well for yourself haven't you turncloak?"

Sandor Clegane moved forward, hand on sword-hilt, but Kevan waved him back. "I have worked out nothing. I am the legal heir to the Rock, and this is collaborated by Tywin's will."

"A fiction!" Spicer dismissed it, "You expect us to believe this tripe? Give up the Rock Kevan, go over the sea with your wife and remaining children, we wouldn't want you to lose any more of them would we?"

"If that threat was meant to be veiled Ser Rolph, you need to work on your subtleties."

"I am Lord of Castamere."

"Not any more, you will die and your house are expelled from my lands. Lords Lefford, Lydden and Greenfield will join you, though their heirs may inherit their lands."

"Why do I get special treatment?"

"You are a treasonous, lecherous brute, and I will not have such a man in my lands."

Lord Lefford scoffed, "Again you speak in contradictions, Lannister. You speak thus of Lord Spicer, yet you keep Clegane at your right hand. How are we supposed to believe that Tywin chose you? A man who betrayed his own brother and family for a different King?"

Kevan sighed, "Is there anything I can say which will sway you?"

"Nothing."

"Very well, get out."

* * *

When the lords had gone, Kevan had everyone except his sons, Tommen, Lord Daven, the Hound, Lords Marbrand, Jast and Brax leave.

"Gentlemen. Tomorrow we will reach Castle Jast. We must force Lydden to a battle. The sooner we deal with them, the sooner we can prepare for winter, and to defend ourselves against any Tyrell attack. Martyn, the map."

Tommen looked at the map his cousin spread out over the desk. It showed their camp in the south-western corner, and Castle Jast on the eastern edge. The small castle was surrounded on three sides by a lake, making it more defensible than it's small size would suggest. The rebel forces were shown by a series of markers along the western side of the castle, the only one not protected by the lake. His uncle began to move markers and dictate his plans as he went.

"Clegane, you will take half our light horse out tonight and raid their pickets while it is dark. The terrain is relatively clear, with few trees so there should be little difficulty in travelling. Swing around and attack from the north. We need to disorientate them. To that end, Ser Addam Marbrand will take the other half and do the same from the south. I leave the exact positioning of the attacks to your respective discretion. At dawn, pull back. As soon as the sun rises, the rest of the army will move up and form a line across this top of this rise, looking down on their camp. They will come out and meet us."

"If they do not?" Lord Jast asked.

"Lydden will be forced to. If they don't start forming a battleline, we send in the cavalry again. Clegane from the north, Ser Addam from the south. Lord Brax, you will lead in the heavy horse in a direct attack from our main line. All three of you will keep alert though. Upon the signal of four trumpet blasts, you will withdraw and the infantry will advance from the west. Lord Marbrand will have the left, Lord Jast the right, and Lord Daven Lannister the centre."

"What of us father?" Martyn asked.

"You will be with me, your brother, Tommen and the reserve."

"Father please. Let me go with Ser Addam. Willem is a ruler, I am a fighter. Let me fight."

"No, out of the question. I will not lose another son."

"Father." Willem interrupted, "Let him go. If he doesn't he'll be a pain in my arse for months."

"Very well," he turned to Lord Marbrand, "Damon, tell your son I am trusting him with my boy, tell him I ask one more thing of him, that he come back."

"I shall, my lord."

* * *

The raiding parties rode out at dusk. Martyn promised to come back, but Tommen saw his uncle's face, saw his worry.

When the army began to march at dawn, Tommen was beside Lord Kevan when a rider galloped up to them from the north. He looked battered and exhausted, a deep scratch across his temple, he swayed in his saddle.

"My lord," he gasped, "The Hound sent me."

"What news man?" Kevan replied, calling out to his guards, "Get him something to drink, and bring a maester."

"They knew we were coming, my lord. Their heavy cavalry hit us in the flanks as soon as we drew near. We have barely a third of our men left. The Hound sent me, sent me to say, that he has had to pull back."

"Thank you, get some rest, I'll send another man back." He beckoned to one of his riders, "Ride to Lord Clegane to the north, tell him to pull back and rejoin the column, we'll have to rely on Ser Addam's force."

Once that man was gone, another arrived within an hour. His report was just as dire.

"As we rode towards them through the forest, we were ambushed, crossbows and light cavalry. We were cut to pieces, my lord."

"How many losses?"

"Almost half, my lord."

"My son?"

"Ser Martyn took a wound, but not serious. The real danger is them coming after us."

"Very well, ride back to Ser Addam, tell him to pull back to the main force."

* * *

Tommen watched as his uncle fretted over the map on the desk.

"Right gentlemen, we find ourselves in need of a new plan, with many of our light cavalry gone. I propose now a full head-on attack on their camp, whether they form a battle line or not. That is the new plan. Lord Marbrand shall have the left, Lord Daven Lannister the right, but I shall take the centre. Tommen, you will be with me. Willem, you will command the reserve."

As he prepared, Tommen wondered what the point was. Why did they not just accept his uncle? Then he realised it didn't matter. He would fight them, kill them, they might kill him. He wished Cella were still alive.


	82. Chapter 82: Brynden VI

_NOTE - One more chapter bites the dust, and more developments in the North. Enjoy!  
_

_Brynden_

The Hornwood had fallen relatively easily. Since their lady had been forced into marriage with Ramsay Snow their loyalty to Bolton had never been more than reluctant. Brynden had named Ser Wylis Manderly castellan, given that the late Lady Donella had been born a Manderly, and marched on towards the Dreadfort. It was here that the going had truly gotten tough.

With winter truly setting in, progress was slow. A gap appeared in the column firstly between the Northern troops of the Manderlys, Lockes and Woolfields and the Riverlanders, then between the Riverlanders and the supply train. Lord Too-Fat Manderly and his litter made such slow progress that they had become part of the supply train itself. In order that the tents and equipment would reach the camp before dark, they only managed fifteen miles on the second day from the Hornwood. Under the boughs of the ancient forest itself, there were added dangers. The forest road was covered in accumulated snow, and the army would have become lost without the knowledge of local guides. As the snow was trampled over by so many feet, by the time the rearguard, under Lord Blackwood, reached the same point, what had been soft powder had been compacted into a layer of hard, icy ground. Many of the men slipped and fell, and more than one broke an ankle. Lord Blackwood himself was thrown from his horse when it slipped and could not rise again. With a shattered ankle, the horse would not survive the cold. It was butchered and added to the food supplies. One more than one occasion, a particularly large pine tree dropped snow from its branches, burying men and wagons alike. So far only one man had died in such a way, a Vance man who was smothered by the snow before he could be dug out.

Brynden had taken a northern garron in place of his warhorse when they had reached the Hornwood, but now even this sure-footed pony was having to take it slowly on the icy road. He had never experienced cold on this scale before, not in all his sixty-odd years. Yet he kept going, bundled up in as many furs as he could scrape together. He had never felt old before, but he did now. The cold made his joints ache, and he found getting up in the morning harder than ever. He blamed it on his injuries, but knew deep down that that was not it. _This is a young man's game. Go home, old man. _The Old Gods were not his gods, he was out of his depth. This was not his land. _We are as unwelcome as the Freys up here._

Every night the butcher's bill grew longer. All the big southern warhorses were dead, leaving only the Northerner's sturdy garrons. The Riverlanders were all volunteers for this mission, but their confidence was at its lowest ebb. Two men had frozen to death on watch only the previous night, and Lord Bracken's natural son, Harry Rivers, had disappeared when he walked into the woods to take a shit. Two days later the scouts had found him, nailed halfway up a tree with his innards hanging down to the ground and his own parts shoved into his mouth. _The Bastard._

As Brynden sat on his pony, he watched his bedraggled force pick their way up the hill towards him. As he looked out over the surrounding land, he could see their destination. The Dreadfort loomed over the Weeping Water, a squat castle with thick walls and tooth-like triangular merlons. Smoke rose from the courtyard and the towers themselves, but only in thin plumes, indicating to him the presence of fires lit for warmth. However, it would take another day's march at their current speed to reach the castle.

* * *

Beside him rode Ser Wendel Manderly and Lord Blackwood. The three of the remained completely silent as they came up to the gates of the Dreadfort. The flayed man of House Bolton flapped from the gatehouse. Over the main gate hung a gibbet, in which was a body, being pecked at by a pair of crows, though it was practically a skeleton by now. The gods alone knew how long the poor man had hung there before he died, or how long ago he had passed on. On the dead man's breast was displayed a hart and stag combatant, brown on green.

Ser Wendel leaned in and whispered, "Ser Arthor Glenmore. He was Lady Donella Hornwood's master-at-arms. Some Hornwood men who escaped when Snow marched told us that he challenged Ramsay to single combat when he announced his intent to wed Lady Donella, by force if necessary. Needless to say, the Bastard declined. One of his men shot the poor bastard in the knee with a crossbow, then they bundled him off and no-one has seen him since."

Lord Blackwood shook his head, "That was over a year ago, his body wouldn't still be in this recognisable a state if it were him."

"I doubt he's been there all that time," Wendel replied, "The Bastard of Bolton has his pleasures, if rumour serves. Most like he was kept in the dungeons and brought out every now and again to be tortured for Snow's amusement." One glance at him showed Brynden that there was no hint of doubt or exaggeration on the knight's face.

"Poor bastard."

By now they were almost at the gate. Still the walls appeared totally deserted, with not a sound emerging from within. With no watchman in evidence, Brynden raised his voice and announced them.

"Ser Brynden Tully, Ser Wendel Manderly and Lord Tytos Blackwood. Here to demand the surrender of Ramsay Snow, the Bastard of Bolton, and take him to Lord Stark for his justice."

No reply but silence.

Brynden turned to Ser Wendel. "Something's wrong. Ride back to the column, bring up three hundred men." As Manderly galloped off, he turned to Lord Blackwood, "We must show force Tytos, tempt him out."

"Look, the main gate is ajar. It must be empty," Blackwood replied, "Or there would be noise."

"Or it's a trap."

"If it's a trap, we have to spring it. We can't just sit here for weeks and then learn he's attacked the rear of Lord Stark's army."

"I agree. When Wendel gets back, I will go in with fifty men. If you hear a battle, follow us in with the rest, and send Ser Wendel for the rest of the army."

"Very well."

* * *

The Blackfish dismounted and led in his chosen fifty on foot. Among them was Ser Gendry. Brynden had chosen him for his sheer size and strength. Sword in one hand, dirk in the other, an underhand grip ready to stab or slice, he gave the order. Three men pushed open the heavy wooden gate and the company tensed. Brynden was the first through into the courtyard. He could not believe what he saw.

Bodies, everywhere. Men-at-arms, old men, women, serving girls, pages, washer-women, horses, dogs, pigs, a few sheep. Every last one, well, there was no other word for it, peeled. As he walked further into the castle and his men followed, he heard one of them throw up.

He was disgusted by the sight, but could not tear his eyes away. He beckoned Ser Gendry over. The knight trotted over, a question on his lips.

"Why would Ramsay do this to his own people?"

"I have no idea. Go back to Lord Blackwood, tell him to take the others back to camp. Send us some wood and tinder, we shall purge it with fire."

As Gendry ran back out of the gate, Brynden heard the voice.

"Please...ser...please." He followed the whisper to an upturned cart, beside which lay a man in the grey robes of a maester. His legs had been smashed, presumably by a hammer, preventing him from escaping, guaranteeing a slow death.

The man whispered again, "Snow...said to tell...father...not Lord Bolton any more...after Stark dead...coming for him."

"Ramsay Snow said this?"

"Yes." The maester glanced at Brynden's blade, "Please...ser."

"Rest friend." In a swift movement, Brynden jerked the blade up under the maester's ribs, piercing his heart. As the poor man died, Brynden stood.

"Leave the dead where they lie. We burn it."

* * *

As they marched away from the burning shell of the Dreadfort, Brynden's mind was not on the plumes of smoke rising into the sky, but on the maester's message, and Ramsay's threat. The words transformed into a twisted maniacal tone in his tired mind.

_Tell my father he is not Lord Bolton any more, and that after Stark is dead, I'm coming for him._

To Brynden that meant two things, the Bastard had turned against his father, though only the gods knew why, and also that Snow was moving to attack Robb's force. By now Robb would be besieging Winterfell, and Ramsay's force would hit him in the rear. Brynden had to catch up, and soon, or many lives would be lost.


	83. Chapter 83: Jon VII

_NOTE - No action here sadly, but an essential chapter nonetheless. Enjoy!  
_

_Jon_

As many men of the Night's Watch as possible were crammed into the common hall for the first vote. Only four days after Lord Commander Mormont's death, nine men had put forward their names for the post; Ser Alliser Thorne, Lord Janos Slynt, Ser Jaremy Rykker, Thoren Smallwood, Othell Yarwyck, Bowen Marsh, Cotter Pyke, Ser Denys Mallister, and himself. When Jarmen Buckwell had nominated him, many had laughed, but Maester Aemon had smiled and added his name to the tally without a word.

Since then, Jon had kept quite quiet, knowing there would be no voting until Mallister and Pyke arrived from the ends of the Wall. Ser Denys had arrived the day before, and Cotter was expected that evening. All this time Ser Alliser and the others had been arguing over who would make a better leader, especially over meals. Jon kept quiet, only speaking when spoken to, relying on his plan.

* * *

That plan was why he, Sam, Ghost, Theon and Jarmen had gone to Othell Yarwyck's chambers earlier that day. When the door opened, the First Builder called him in.

"Snow, to what do I owe the pleasure?" Othell was the only one of the contenders who hadn't laughed when Jon was nominated, and the only one who remained polite in his words.

"I was hoping we might discuss the vote."

"Of course, come in."

"Ghost, sit." He turned to his companions, "Wait here."

Once inside, Mormont's raven flew from his shoulder to the window.

"An irritating bird that. I'm surprised you keep it."

"I can't get rid of him, and as long as he doesn't peck my eyes out while I sleep I don't mind him."

The First Builder leaned forward, "Jon, you should know, if Ser Alliser is elected, or Slynt, you will be leading a ranging north within the day, and you won't come back."

"I assumed as much."

"If I become Lord Commander, you will remain the Commander of the Nightfort. I recommended you to Mormont for the post, and I do not regret it. You would make a good Commander, but you are too young."

"Are you asking me to stand down in your favour?"

"Yes."

"I appreciate what you have done for me, really I do. But I will not stand down. The Old Bear was right, we must have peace with the wildlings, and none of the others will give us that."

"Jon, you cannot win. You have the Nightfort, but that's barely thirty men. As for peace, it may be the right thing, but it will never happen. There would be mutiny before they let you do that. But it doesn't matter, you don't have the support."

"I might, if you backed me."

"What?"

"I want you to support me."

"You have been here barely two years."

"And am already Commander of one of our castles. An appointment you endorsed."

"You are too young."

"Half of the older candidates will die of old age before winter ends."

"I have served for thirty years."

"Yet have no experience of battling the wildlings, or their ways."

"No, I don't. But I know how to fortify a castle, how to survive."

"Yes, you do. That's why I want you on my side. Neither of us can win on our own, Othell."

"Let me think about it. I will give you my answer after Pyke's arrival."

"Thank you." Jon rose, and the raven returned to his shoulder.

* * *

Next they went to Ser Denys Mallister, who invited Jon in, but with less courtesy than Yarwyck had managed.

"Lord Snow, I was about to ask you to visit."

"And the purpose of that visit?"

"I want you to support me."

"Of course. You should know, Ser Denys, that I have just come from Othell Yarwyck, who has agreed to support me." _A bald-faced lie, but a necessary one._

The old man sighed, "Well then, I doubt I will be receiving your support."

"No."

"So the only other reason you could have come. You want mine."

"Just so."

"And why should I do that? When Lord Commander Slate died, I stood. When Lord Qorgyle won, I stepped back. I will be next, I thought. He died, and I thought my chance had come. Then it was clear that Mormont would win, and I stepped back again. I will be next, I told myself. Now Mormont is dead. Why should I give it up for a youngster like yourself?"

"Because I am the best man for the job."

"By who's estimation?"

"Lord Commander Mormont's. He taught me to command, and to do what needed to be done."

"What if he was wrong?"

"Ser Denys, you are not a stupid man. You know you cannot win this without more support. Yarwyck supports me, Smallwood and Pyke will not stand down, Slynt and Rykker will back Ser Alliser if they see a chance, possibly Bowen Marsh as well. Do you want Thorne as our Commander?"

"No I do not. He would not be a good commander. You present yourself as an alternative to Thorne, why?"

"Because I know that his command would destroy the Watch. You cannot oppose him, and now Yarwyck has backed me, I can outpace you in the votes. Back me Ser, and you will retain command of the Shadow Tower. I would also plan to reopen Westwatch-by-the-Bridge and Greyguard. Both of these will be answerable to you."

"You think you can buy me with castles? I am a Mallister! _Above the Rest_, those are our words. I will not be bought. But I will bow to sense. My personal ambitions do not matter. Maybe next time, though I doubt I will live to see another. Eighty-six years have I seen, fifty of them on the Wall. Very well, Jon Snow, I will speak for you, though unless you get some more votes, Thorne will still outdo you."

As Jon left, he breathed out. Now he would send Theon to Othell Yarwyck, to tell him of Ser Denys' decision. Hopefully, that would be enough to persuade him. Mallister was right though, he needed more votes.

* * *

Jerked back to the present by Maester Aemon's voice, Jon listened as the tallies were announced.

"First Builder Othell Yarwyck - 144, First Ranger Thoren Smallwood - 123, Ser Denys Mallister, Commander of the Shadow Tower - 178, Cotter Pyke, Commander of Eastwatch-by-the-Sea - 164, Ser Alliser Thorne - 187, Janos Slynt - 43, Ser Jaremy Rykker - 56, First Steward Bowen Marsh - 65, Jon Snow, Commander of the Nightfort - 71."

There was a brief silence before Aemon continued, "As we have no two-thirds majority, do any of the candidates wish to cast their votes in the favour of any other candidate?"

"Aye." Ser Jaremy Rykker stood, "I use my votes in favour of Ser Alliser Thorne."

"As you wish, anyone else?"

Slynt stood, "I will do the same."

Then Ser Denys Mallister stood, "I cast my votes in favour of Jon Snow, Commander of the Nightfort."

A gasp of shock rippled through the gathered brothers, the second-place candidate giving all his votes to a man with so few was unprecedented. The look on Ser Alliser's face turned dark, and Jon resisted the temptation to smile. He did smile however, when Othell Yarwyck followed Ser Denys.

"Any other vote exchanges? No? Very well, the new tally stands as follows; First Ranger Thoren Smallwood - 123, Cotter Pyke, Commander of the Shadow Tower - 164, Ser Alliser Thorne - 286, First Steward Bowen Marsh - 65, Jon Snow, Commander of the Nightfort - 393."

There was a roar of triumph from the back of the hall where Jon's supporters were standing, but they were quietened by Maester Aemon.

"We still have no two-thirds majority, so we will vote again tomorrow. Remember, 688 votes are needed. Jon Snow currently leads."

* * *

Cotter Pyke came to see him that night.

"How did you do it Snow?"

"Do what?"

"Convince Mallister and Yarwyck to give you their votes."

"I told them the truth."

"What truth is that?"

"That unless we find a way to reduce the number of enemies we are fighting, we will lose."

"You speak, but no answer comes out. What truth?" Pyke's close set eyes peered at him suspiciously.

"That we must make peace with the wildlings."

"Madness! Thorne told me what Mormont was rambling about on his deathbed, and I did not believe him. It seems he was right, that you would consider such a delirious idea a solid plan." The man's harsh voice grew louder and shriller as he raved.

"Commander Pyke, please, the men will hear."

"Let them hear! You want to sell us out to the wildlings!"

"I do not."

"What?"

"I said we must have peace with them, work with them to defeat our common foe, I said nothing about selling out the Night's Watch."

"Again, you speak in sweet nothings. The truth Snow!"

"I would let them through the Wall, and have them help us garrison the castles along the Wall. I would have them provide hostages to ensure their co-operation. I would treat them as allies, but I would not trust them." _Why must I say these things? Why not just tell him the truth? _Jon knew the answer to that. _If I tell the truth then he will vote for Ser Alliser, and we will all be done for._

"Sounds a lot like betraying the Watch to me."

"Not at all. Ensuring the Watch's survival."

"How do you work that out?"

"You are a seasoned commander Pyke, you know we cannot defeat the wildlings if they come at us again, in earnest."

The Iron Islander slumped, "True enough. I lost half my command holding Eastwatch."

"Add on to that the reduction of the Nightfort garrison to barely thirty men, plus the losses at the Shadow Tower and here. We are badly outnumbered, hilariously so."

His eyes narrowed, "I see no joke."

"A figure of speech. The point is that we can fight the wildlings, and die. Or we can ally with them to hold the Wall against what follows them."

"You don't mean..."

"I do. The dead walk, Commander Pyke." Jon examined the veteran's face, "You don't look surprised."

Pyke took a swig from a skin at his hip, "That's because I'm not. We found the bodies of two of our rangers, brought them back to Eastwatch and left them in the courtyard until morning. That night they got up and came for me. Have you ever fought the dead, Jon Snow? I thought not. To be awoken by the sound of your door crashing in and then two decaying corpses throw themselves at you?"

"What happened?"

"I cut one's head off, but it kept coming. I jumped out of the window, woke the men and went after the bodies. One of the lads threw an oil lamp and the thing was set ablaze, as if covered in pitch. Burn 'em, that's the trick."

"Why did you not say anything before?"

"You think that lot would believe me? Slynt, Thorne, Smallwood, Marsh, Rykker? They cannot see beyond their own succession. Mallister hates me, its an old family rivalry. I might have persuaded Yarwyck, and I had hoped to get you on side too, but now? I know we must fight the Others, but the wildlings... Allying them would be the death of a Lord Commander."

"I will do it."

Pyke studied him closely, "I believe you would. Very well Snow, you have my vote. On one condition."

"Name it."

"I will have no wildlings at Eastwatch. It's our only supply depot, we cannot lose it."

"Agreed. This of course has the added bonus of showing your men how you opposed my very unpopular decision."

"Of course." The Ironborn bastard smiled, "Who's to say I won't win next time?"

Jon stared at him. How could the man agree to help him and then predict his death in the same conversation? He would never understand, nor indeed like, Pyke. He accepted that. _But I need him._

* * *

Maester Aemon gave the count, "First Ranger Thoren Smallwood - 57."

That was not a huge shock. As one of the few non-leading candidates, Smallwood must have known that his support would vanish. He would have to cast his vote for one of the others now, or hang on with his famed bloody-mindedness. Jon believed it would be the latter.

"First Steward Bowen Marsh - 13."

The Old Pomegranate turned purple as this humiliating result was announced. He would back Thorne, that Jon knew.

"Cotter Pyke, Commander -" the maester was cut off by Pyke standing up, "Yes, Commander?"

"I cast my votes in favour of Jon Snow." Ignoring the rumble of disapproval in the hall, Pyke sat.

"Very well. Ser Alliser Thorne - 474." Jon saw Thorne grin as Slynt leaned over and clapped him on the shoulder.

"Jon Snow, Commander of the Nightfort ..."

"Or what's left of it!" A voice shouted from the back of the hall.

Maester Aemon continued undeterred, "557 votes. No two-thirds majority, we vote again tomorrow."

Jon looked at Ser Alliser and saw the cold fury on his face. He couldn't help himself, but he smiled. As the master-at-arms turned to talk to Slynt, Jon beckoned to Jarmen, Theon and Sam. He needed a plan of how to deal with Ser Alliser when he was Lord Commander.


	84. Chapter 84: Davos XI

_NOTE - A longer one this time, sorry it's been a while in the making. Any POV requests, whether its a character we haven't heard from in a while or someone new, feel free to PM me. Enjoy.  
_

_Davos_

It had taken far longer than it should to reach the Arbor. After reaching Dragonstone and joining with the fleet under the command of Aurane Waters, Davos had stopped for a day to bury Devan. The chosen site for their new family resting place was at the top of one of the island's great cliffs. It had seemed fitting that Seaworths would be buried overlooking the sea, instead of in the crypts. The thought of spending eternity in the dank cellars of Dragonstone filled Davos with dread. Far better to be in the open air, where the wind and rain could buffet him, and he knew Devan would have agreed. He had looked around at his remaining family then. His wife Marya, a carpenter's daughter, who was amazed at the luxury of their new lives. Dale and his wife, her stomach beginning to show her growing child. Allard, who longed for excitement, Matthos and Maric, as different as night and day. Then there were the two boys he barely knew. Steffon and Stannis were now twelve and eleven respectively, and Davos had begun to wonder if he should foster them out. _After the war_ he told himself. he would have t find provision for each of his boys, that he knew. When he died, Dale would rule Dragonstone and the family's small lands on Cape Wrath would fall to Allard, but the others would get nothing. Matthos would be happy to stay at Dragonstone and serve his eldest brother, but not Maric. Maric would probably take a ship and go, though where to and with what purpose Davos knew not. He had a horrible feeling his fourth son would return to smuggling. Marya told him that Steffon was set on the Kingsguard, as many young lads were, while Stannis spent all his time reading. Provision would have to be made for them too, these boys he didn't know.

But he had not the time to cherish with his family that he would have liked. Lord Celtigar and Aurane Waters had pushed to sail immediately, and he knew they were right, so they had done so. Leaving Dale behind to look after his mother, wife and unborn child, Davos and the other three older sons set sail. _Black Betha _led the way, with Allard's _Wild Wolf _to port, and Lord Celtigar's ancient three-masted galley _Red Crab _to starboard. In the centre of the formation was _Fury _under Aurane Waters, and _Vixen _captained by the newly named Lord Erren Florent. Matthos and Maric brought up the rear in _Storm Queen _and _Falcon. _In between them, the one hundred and twenty four ships of Stannis' fleet had sailed down the eastern coast of Westeros, moving out to sea to avoid the terrible storms of Shipbreaker Bay. The ships flew the banners of Baratheon, Estermont, Celtigar, Seaworth, Manderly, Arryn, Grafton, Velaryon and more, the full concentration of Stannis' greatest strength, his ships.

They lost three ships to a squall as they passed Tarth, and scared off a pirate fleet with the sheer size of the flotilla. As they passed the Broken Arm of Dorne, they encountered a few small Martell patrol boats, but no more than that. But that was as expected. In fact, Davos had been surprised that this veritable armada had made it in one piece with so few losses. Not to trivialise the loss of three full crews, but he had expected more.

They made their approach on the Arbor from the South so as to not get caught in the Whispering Sound, spread out and unprepared for battle, and attacked from both sides by the Redwynes and Hightowers. Theoretically the Hightowers had bent the knee, but Davos was not sure about the sincerity of the act, and Paxter Redwyne definitely hadn't even bothered.

At the latest estimates, the Redwynes had maybe eighty battle-worthy ships. Not a match for the royal fleet, but enough to cripple it and make it unable to defeat the Iron Fleet. To that end, they approached from the south, hoping to sneak around the Arbor and head north to the Iron Islands, only meeting them in battle if totally necessary.

* * *

The plan did not work. A Redwyne sloop appeared on the horizon on the second day of their detour. _Black Betha, Storm Queen_ and _Falcon _waited for her. As she drew near, the little boat flew the seven-coloured peace banner. When the sloop, named _Golden Heart_, pulled alongside the flagship and a knight came aboard. He was orange-haired, with a square face and freckles, and a bunch of grapes on his surcoat.

"Lord Seaworth, we recognised your banner when you began to sail around our island two days ago."

"I am sorry, ser, but I do not know you."

"Ser Hobber Redwyne, Lord Redwyne is my father."

"Then welcome aboard Ser Hobber. But how can I help you? We were passing your island in peace, to subdue Victarion Greyjoy, why do you pursue us?"

"Well it was hardly to attack you!" Hobber laughed as he gestured to his little boat, dwarfed by the vast hull of _Black Betha. _He suddenly became serious, "If it is truly the Iron Captain and his fleet you seek my lord, you are sailing the wrong way."

"What do you mean?"

"I mean that Victarion Greyjoy attacked Oldtown a week ago."

Davos sighed, "Then he is long gone."

"No, the Iron Fleet is still there, and many other Greyjoy ships too. Nearly two hundred all told."

"Why?"

"His men besiege the Citadel and the High Tower. It is most unlike him. They say that at Lannisport he just sailed away, leaving their fortifications as too tough a nut to crack."

"The first time yes, the second time no. He torched it all."

"I had forgotten that. All the same, we understand why he wants the High Tower, another proclamation of his strength. But the Citadel? It makes no sense."

Davos thought through everything he knew about the Greyjoys, and reached a conclusion. Just as he was about to speak, he checked himself. Why was he having such an open discussion with this man? Maybe it was the knight's honest face that had set him at ease. Davos cursed himself for letting his guard slip.

"Why are you here ser?"

"My lord father sent me to bring you to join our fleet that we can move on, and crush, Victarion Greyjoy."

"Why should I do that? Your family has not yet bent the knee to King Stannis."

"That is what my lord father offers, the ships of the Arbor for Stannis Baratheon, in exchange for your aid. Think Lord Davos, you were sent to fight Greyjoy, and you have not the ships to defeat him, despite your strength. Together we do."

Davos mentally cursed himself, he should have known that Lord Redwyne would have planned something. Yet the more he thought, the fewer problems he saw. If Redwyne bent the knee, it would damage the Tyrells with the loss of another of their most powerful bannermen, and the liberation of Oldtown might prompt Leyton Hightower to do so also. And if he didn't, then a siege would be relatively simple. He would not trust the Lord of the Arbor though, not even as far as he could spit him.

"How can I be sure that you will not betray me?"

Ser Hobber smiled, "My father anticipated your lack of enthusiasm, so he sent me also as an offer of goodwill."

"Sent you?"

"I am to be your hostage, until our war is done."

"Then welcome aboard _Black Betha_, Ser Hobber."

* * *

He had never made politics his game, so maybe that's why this made him uneasy. Yet he was a great lord now, and Hand of the King, theoretically one of the most powerful men in Westeros, though their were some regular lords with more effective power than him. Paxter Redwyne was one of them. The Lord of the Arbor wore a tabard of sea blue, a rich purple cloak hanging from his stooped shoulders. Hair the same colour as his son's sprouted from his chin though little remained on his head.

His flagship, the _Arbor Queen, _was alongside Davos' ship and his lordship had come aboard to discuss tactics.

"Seaworth," he nodded to Davos, "Lets get on shall we?"

Davos decided he did not like Lord Redwyne, but knew he could not afford to show it. "Welcome Lord Redwyne. You have fought Greyjoy before, so I look forward to hearing your appraisal of him."

Paxter nodded again, but his smile did not reach his eyes. "We must not attack them head on. That was the mistake we made last time. Not my mistake, but Lord Willas'. I told Mace his son had no battle experience, on land or sea, but he was most insistent. Well it cost the Tyrells their ships and those of the Shield Islands, luckily most of my own losses were minimal."

Davos was now sure he did not like his new ally. "How would you suggest attacking them?"

"My fleet has been hiding in the Arbor for all the time Victarion has been at Oldtown. He will not expect us to move against him. He also knows that he can win in a head-on clash. Your fleet is the largest, you must form a battle-line just outside the port. When he comes out to attack, we shall attack his flanks in a split manoeuvre. I shall command one side, my son Horas the other."

"How will you get into position without being seen?"

"Simple. A night attack."

"A night attack? Is that a good idea?"

"What better way to really surprise them by using their own tactics?" His steely eyes gleamed.

"Very well, we go in under the cover of darkness."

As Lord Paxter left, Davos could not help but feel uneasy. The plan seemed too simple. Victarion would see through it surely. But then, he realised, there was no other way. If the Greyjoys saw both fleets arrayed for battle, they would not be drawn out, but one fleet, at night, they would surely fall for it. Or so he hoped.

* * *

The King's fleet had been in position for over an hour, waiting for the signal from Lord Redwyne's galleys.

"Where the hell are they?" One of the sergeants grumbled.

"They'll be in position soon," Ser Hobber assured the man, "Look! There it is, to starboard."

A single fire arrow lanced up into the night, followed by another one from the other side of the Whispering Sound.

Davos gave the order, "Sound the attack."

As the ship's mate put his lips to _Black Betha_'s horn and blew three deep blasts, the drums began to sound, beating the attack. On such a windless night, the ships' only propulsion came from the rowing crews below decks. All along the battle-line marines ran up on deck, shields and spears at the ready.

They expected a reply, a call to arms for the Iron Fleet, a war horn, something. But nothing came. The harbour of Oldtown remained silent. Davos knew enough about naval warfare to distrust this.

"Halt! Stop them all!" His command was carried along the line by sergeants shouting at full parade ground volume and two short blasts on the horn.

Something was wrong. Why was the harbour still open? Why had the alarm not been raised? Where was the Iron Fleet?

Ser Hobber approached Davos, "My lord? Where are they?" The knight wore only a thin tunic and breeches, a small dagger thrust into his belt, as if he had only just awoken. Why would he not be dressed for battle? Did he not intend to fight at all? Where were his sword and shield? Unless he didn't intend to fight. The only reason Davos could see for such clothing was...

_He means to swim. His armour would drown him, so he goes without. Why would he be swimming?_

It hit Davos like a thunderbolt. Paxter Redwyne's fleet was now in the perfect position to attack _his _ships, not Greyjoy's. No wonder the harbour was deserted, the Iron Fleet was not there. It was all a ploy, and he had fallen for it, hook, line and sinker.

"You bastard." He cursed the knight, before punching him in the face with his good hand. As Redwyne reeled, Davos gave his commands.

"Signal _Falcon _and _Vixen_ to enter the harbour, most like it's abandoned, but I want to be sure. All remaining ships to turn, execute split and half wheel manoeuvre . Port ships to form up on _Fury _and _Storm Queen_, starboard on _Black Betha _and _Red Crab. _Form attacking lines, prepare to repel boarders! And somebody arrest this knight!" He pointed to where Hobber Redwyne had been, but he was gone. A splash told Davos that Redwyne was making his escape. Never mind, he would deal with him when this was over.

_How could I have been so stupid?_

Again silence fell. No attack came. Davos began to panic. _Gods, what if I was wrong? What if the Greyjoy's ARE there? __No, we wait._

The hour that followed was one of the most tense of Davos' life. Only when _Falcon _and _Vixen _returned did he relax. He sent four of his fastest ships, Lord Velaryon's _Sea Horse _and _Swift Wind, _Lord Sunglass' _Seventh Star _and Lord Manderly's _White Knife _to investigate the disappearance of Lord Redwyne's fleet. Two ships went north, two south. In the meantime, he called his leading captains aboard _Black Betha_ for counsel.

Erren Florent and Maric confirmed that the harbour was indeed empty, though it was clear that the Iron Fleet had attacked, but had been gone at least a week. Lord Celtigar and Aurane Waters confirmed that they had seen nothing of the Arbor fleet since moving into position.

"My lords, I have failed." Davos began, "I believed a man I had no reason to, and it has cost us our mission. We have two options, we can return to King's Landing, or we can move on the Iron Islands. But first, where the hell did Redwyne go? The same with Greyjoy. We need to know which way they went. If either of them went east, we must know, so we can pursue, or King's Landing itself will be threatened."

"We could ask the Hightowers," Lord Celtigar suggested, "They will have seen, and they are not like to try and kill us, not when this fleet will destroy them should any harm come to us."

"Very well, we shall go ashore and ask Lord Leyton."

* * *

The Old Man of Oldtown greeted them courteously, but his court was cold. Not in temperature, but in mood. Davos had entered with Lord Celtigar, Matthos, Maric and Erren Florent. Lord Leyton sat in a great stone chair, his fourth wife at his side. Also there was his son Ser Humfrey and surprisingly, Alekyne Florent.

Lord Leyton's voice was deep and booming, like the horn that sounded from the High Tower whenever the port was attacked.

"Lord Onion Knight, why have you come bearing steel to my home? We have barely begun to recover from the Ironborn assault when you arrive, a mighty war fleet in tow. I have bent the knee to King Stannis, so I demand to know the reason for this." He sounded hurt, rather than angry.

Davos considered his reply carefully, "I was sent by His Grace to bring the Iron Fleet to heel. I was informed by Lord Redwyne that Greyjoy was still anchored here, so a plan was made to trap them between our fleets. As it turns out, Lord Redwyne used our distraction to slip away. I come to you now to find out, if you know, where he has gone."

Leyton Hightower's laugh boomed around the audience chamber, "Paxter's a tricky one, I'll give him that. We can tell you, Onion Knight, but I want to know things from you first."

"Ask away my lord."

"Why is my son returned to me with a demand for Alekyne Florent here to go to court?"

"Because by rights he is now Lord Florent, and he must answer for the crimes of his kin Ser Axell and Ser Imry, who killed Lancel Lannister in cold blood, to ferment further rebellion in the Westerlands."

"Then why does the letter say that this man," he pointed at Erren, "Is now Lord Florent?"

"It is merely a courtesy, until Lord Alekyne's position is known." Davos looked at the Florent lord, who continued to stare straight ahead, as if he were alone in the room.

"As you say. I tell you now, both the Redwyne and Greyjoy fleets have gone east, to Essos."

"Why would they go together?"

"Because they are on the same side, Lord Seaworth."

"Which side?"

"House Targaryen."

Lord Celtigar laughed aloud, "Targaryen? The dragons are done."

"Not as done as you would think. Aegon, son of Rhaegar, who was smuggled out of the capital when the Lannister troops arrived, has returned. The Golden Company have landed, with Jon Connington, and they have taken Griffin's Roost. Dorne and the Reach will soon declare for him."

"Then why is the fleet going to Essos?"

"For Daenerys. And her dragons. Now you know, Lord Davos, sail quickly back to your King. Tell him what you have learnt, but it may well be too late. The dragons are coming."

* * *

They left the High Tower and Oldtown unmolested, and Davos immediately gave the order to make for King's Landing. He had to tell the King. Then it occurred to him, why would Old Hightower tell him this?

_He is still hedging his bets. By warning Stannis, even at this late stage, he shows his loyalty. Yet he leaves the warning late enough that it will be no good. Now that Oldtown has been attacked, he can plead that he has no men to spare, so will not be branded a traitor for that either. Where were his other sons? The ones that were returned to him when he bent the knee? They must be readying to side with the Targaryens. All the time he plays on two sides._

_I must warn the King._


	85. Chapter 85: Battle of Winterfell

_NOTE - THE BATTLE OF WINTERFELL. Another chapter which will feature split POV's from quite a few characters. Again, my thanks to cbstevp for the format idea which I have shamefully pinched. Enjoy.  
_

_Roose  
_

He looked out over the Stark host and knew. The time had come. The Young Wolf had made his camp half a mile from Winterfell. Not a traditional siege then, he would try and starve them out rather than an attack. A wise move. Stark may have had more men but Winterfell could hold against more than twice his number.

Roose smiled. Arnolf Karstark and his men were with that host, and Ramsay was leading his men to attack the rear. Upon the signal from Ramsay, he would march his men out of Winterfell and form a battle-line. Just as the lines were about to clash, the Karstarks would attack Stark's men, causing chaos. At the same time, Ramsay would strike the rear of the enemy. Their numerical advantage would be totally destroyed, and he would rule the North. No doubt there would be rebellion from the Umbers, and probably the Manderlys, but with winter upon them such attempts would be futile and easily quashed.

The snow had stopped that morning, but it remained bitterly cold. Or so the men told him. Roose Bolton did not feel the cold, did not feel anything. As he looked out from the battlements of the South Gate, he heard raised voices from below him. More trouble. Not an hour went by without the various occupants of the castle and commanders and lords bickering. As he suspected, the source of most of this trouble was Alys Karstark and Lady Dustin. Betrothed to Ramsay she may be, but the Karstark girl was anything but loyal to House Bolton, declaring to anyone who would listen that this bid for power in the North was doomed. Surprisingly, she appeared to have made an unlikely friend in Lady Dustin, whose hatred of the Starks appeared to be matched only by her hatred of the Freys.

"What would you know of the winter?" She was interrogating one of the Freys, Ser Whalen, "You who get a slight dusting of snow in the depths of the cold, while we struggle through ice and snow ten feet deep. You southerners should not be here."

Whalen replied strongly, "We are here because House Frey is honouring it's allegiance to House Bolton."

Alys laughed, "The Freys are done! Lord Stevron rules the Twins again, with Ser Olyvar as his heir. Ryman's Rebellion is done. You are honouring a forgotten pledge."

Time to intervene. "Not forgotten by me, Ser Whalen. I appreciate your loyalty to us." The words almost stuck in his mouth. The Freys had been worse than useless. First they had failed to capture Riverrun, then got trounced at Seagard, and finally lost their own castle. Then the column which had come north had come without winter clothing or equipment, so had been a liability from the start. Were he a betting man, he would have wagered that the Blackfish's men were not short on winter equipment. But Roose Bolton did not make bets.

His wife was pregnant. It would be a boy. He knew it would. Ramsay would try to kill it. Roose would kill him first. The boy was no Bolton, useful for now, but not a Bolton. His thoughts were interrupted again by Lady Dustin.

"I will have my revenge. The North remembers."

"Revenge for what?" scoffed another of the Freys, Ser Jammos.

"The North remembers, and will avenge the wrongs done to it."

"What wrongs are these? Not House Frey's doing." Ser Raymund insisted, the third of the Freys. A slimy creature, with the morals of a beetle and the strength of a wet fish.

"Lady Dustin refers to the Starks treatment of her. How Rickard Stark refused to let her wed Brandon Stark. How Eddard Stark took her husband to war and brought back only his horse. These wrongs were done to Lady Dustin by the Starks, so her love for them is not in good supply."

"Much like our food," Lord Rodrik Ryswell chimed in, "These southerners eat too much. When are we dealing with the wolf pup Roose?"

"Soon, my lord, very soon."

* * *

_Robb_

Arnolf Karstark and his sons and remaining grandsons stood before him.

"You are charged with conspiring to betray your liege lord. How do you plead?"

"Not guilty!" The old hunchback lurched forward, "I cam back to serve you, my lord. We did wrong, but we saw our error and returned to you."

"Take them away. They will be dealt with after we have won."

As the five men were muscled out of the tent by guards, the Greatjon stepped forward.

"My lord, the Boltons are marching out of the castle and forming a line of attack. We must respond."

"You are correct, give the order."

His Stark men formed the centre of the line, directly opposite the soldiers of House Bolton. The Umbers held the left flank, with the Cerwyns, Tallharts and Glovers, while the Karstarks, now all united under Lord Harrion, held the right with the Glovers, Mormonts and clansmen. Grey Wind was at his side, his hackles raised. He reached out with his mind and felt the wolf's anger at these men who wanted to kill his master.

He sounded the advance.

When the two armies clashed, he plunged in. Ice, returned to him by King Stannis, cut through the Dreadfort men with ease, and Grey Wind kept with him. He could taste the blood in his mouth. Robb looked around for Lord Bolton but could not see him. His sword came up, blocking a downward swing. The man who faced him now wore steel greaves, but very little other armour. _Steelshanks Walton. _The two of them clashed, the churned up snow making it slippery underfoot. Bolton's right hand man faltered and fell, and Grey Wind tore open his throat.

Then came the horns. They came from behind the Stark lines. _Uncle Brynden. _When Robb turned and saw the men streaming from the woods bearing the flayed man, his heart sank.

* * *

_Barbrey  
_

She stood atop the turret of the South Gate, watching the battle unfold with Alys Karstark and Lady Bolton. They had seen Lord Stark charging at the head of his men, his wolf beside him. They had seen the lines clash. The battle had raged for an hour when Ramsay made his move. The Bastard of Bolton led his men into the dead centre of the enemy line, right where Lord Stark's most loyal troops held. The chaos the attack caused was unprecedented. She knew little of battle, but could see the tide beginning to turn as the Starks reeled from the unexpected onslaught, which had given new resolve the the troops which they had previously been battering.

Her moment was now. All the deception had come to this. All the lies, all the co-operation with the disgusting Leech Lord, everything had led to this. She drew from her sleeve a sash, coloured bright red so that it could not be missed, and slowly dropped it over the side of the battlements. Her lord father would not miss it, could not, or all of this would be for nothing.

Lady Bolton, fat and stupid though she was, did not miss this, "Oh my dear Lady Dustin, what a lovely sash, we shall have to make sure it is reclaimed when my husband returns."

"Your husband isn't returning."

"I beg your pardon?"

"Your vampiric monster of a husband is not returning. He will die out there in the snow."

"But Ramsay has arrived, the tide is turning, once the Karstarks play their part -"

Barbrey cut her off, "The Karstarks will not play their part. Arnolf and his spawn are in chains."

"How do you know this?"

"Because I told Lord Stark that they would betray him. Because I am, and always have been, on the side of the true Lords of the North. I sent a knight to help little crippled Brandon, I sent a rider dressed as a Hornwood sergeant to tell them about Arnolf Karstark."

"You...you betrayed us?"

"Betrayal? No. I may have hated Lord Rickard and Lord Eddard, but they are dead now and there is no point hating the dead. I hated them, but I loved Brandon. He was the only one I ever wanted, and you have no idea how much it galls me to see Boltons and Freys in this castle. The castle which should have been his, and I should have ruled at his side." She could feel the tears rising as she advanced on Fat Walda. "And then there was Domeric. Such a sweet boy, the son I always wanted but could never have. And then the Bastard killed him. In cold blood. All Dom ever wanted was a brother, sought him out, and raised him to the Bolton family. Ramsay returned his kindness by killing him. Brutally." Fat Walda Bolton was now up against the battlements.

"What are you doing? Please, no, I didn't know, I never -" the fat bitch pleaded.

"I said that the North remembers, and I do. All the wrongs that we have suffered shall be repaid, and so they are."

She pushed Lady Bolton backwards.

* * *

_Rodrik_

That was it. That was his daughter's signal. Her red sash floated down from the South Gate Tower. He gestured to his remaining sons to spread the word. As Roger and Roose rode down the lines of the Rillsmen cavalry, Rodrik though on the loss of his eldest son and heir, Rickard. Killed in a Lannister ambush at an exchange of hostages. Then Bolton had had the nerve to side with the bloody Lannisters. He had waited, as Barbrey had insisted, but it had been hard, pretending to like these Freys and Boltons for so long.

Barbrey was the mastermind behind this plan, she had inherited her mother's brains. His job was much simpler. He would lead the cavalry of his house, charged by Lord Bolton with remaining the tactical reserve, and hit Bolton's flank. The chaos that ensued would allow the Stark forces to recover from Ramsay's ambush and victory could be claimed. It would be a high risk strategy, which may not work, but it was the only plan they had.

Barbrey had warned Stark of Arnolf Karstark's betrayal, and she had also sent a letter to him, signed by both him and her, saying that the trap would be sprung when the moment was right. He only hoped that Stark had recieved it before marching out that morning.

Before giving the command to charge, he glanced over at the South Gate again. His daughter had said she would protect Alys Karstark, the poor girl deserved more than Ramsay Snow. She had also said she would take care of Fat Walda. When he saw the fat woman's body fall from the tower and heard her shrill squeal and the thump of her corpulent frame on the ground, he realised what his daughter had meant. _She has had her revenge for Domeric, now I will have mine for Rickard._

"Riders of Ryswell! For the North! For revenge! For the Starks! Winter is here and the North remembers! CHARGE!"

The voices of a thousand riders, all the strength of House Ryswell, joined his as they spurred their horses to a gallop.

"CHARGE!"

* * *

_Ramsay_

What the hell was going on? One minute his men had hit the rear of Stark's forces and the loyal Houses of the North were reeling from the impact. Even the battered force under his father's command were rallying. Now though, both his and his father's troops had been struck by the treachery of the Ryswells. On the other flank the Dustins had also turned their cloaks and the Dreadfort men and the Freys were caught between them, the Ryswells and the Starks and their loyal bannermen. His father had trusted Dustin and Ryswell. Further proof that he was not fit to be Lord of the Dreadfort.

Damon Dance-for-Me came to him then, with Yellow Dick in tow. "My lord Ramsay, we must withdraw, your lord father has summoned you to him. He knows about the Dreadfort. _He knows._"

Ramsay's skinning knife was out and in Yellow Dick's throat before the man could speak, and his longsword impaled Damon as he pleaded. Wiping the blood on their jerkins, he whispered, "How could he know? Unless someone told him, eh?"

There was blood everywhere, slaughter and mayhem. He loved it. But it was obvious that the battle was lost. He had to escape. Only by escaping could he live, and return to his power. His father was a failure, and would die, but he would live and return. Stark had not seen the last of him.

_NOTE - End of Part One! Part Two coming soon. _


	86. Chapter 86: Battle of Winterfell Part II

_NOTE - THE BATTLE OF WINTERFELL PART TWO. Enjoy._

_Brynden_

He had marched his men without mercy in his attempt to catch up to Ramsay but now, as they left the forest, he knew that they were too late. The chaos of the battlefield was indistinguishable. What had probably begun as two distinct lines was now knots of men desperatey hacking away at each other. Then up came a rider bearing the three trees of Tallhart.

"My lord Tully, Lord Stark will be glad to know you're here."

"What in seven hells is going on down there?"

"The Karstarks remained loyal as Lord Robb had Arnolf and his family put in chains. The Bastard's force hit us in the rear, forcing us to fight on two fronts, then the Dustins and Ryswells turned on Bolton. It's madness down there!"

"Where are we needed most?"

"The Bastard's troops are fanatical, and at our rear. Lord Stark sent me to ask if you could hit them from behind, to take the pressure off the troops in the centre."

"It shall be done. Lord Blackwood take your men on the right, Ser Wylis your knights will go in on the left. Ser Gendry, with me." The young knight had been at his side since the Dreadfort, and had been essential in keeping the men motivated, a talent few possessed. He was also tall and phenomenally strong, like King Robert had been. Was it possible he was one of Robert's by-blows?

There was no time to waste on that theory, and the troops began to advance. Starting off at walking pace, which upon his command sped to a trot. Once they were close enough to see the panic in the eyes of the Dreadfort men as turned, he gave a shout, "CHARGE!"

He ducked under one man's desperate blow, ramming his sword up underneath his ribs, and plunging his dirk into the man's eye. Moving onwards, he sliced open another man's _c_hest, caved in one's skull and decapitated another.

Up ahead he could see a young man, fleshy but strong, hacking away at his men with a clear lack of training, but not of ferocity. _The Bastard. _Brynden pushed towards him, but did not get there first. Gendry did. On his arm was a Hornwood shield, taken upon the fortress' liberation, in the other hand a longsword. In that moment, Brynden knew his theory was true. In his mismatched heavy armour, Gendry was his father born again. He cut down two men without pause to reach Ramsay, and barrelled into him like a juggernaut.

The Blackfish found himself useless as he watched the two bastards duel. Swords clashed and skinning knife flashed against shield. Ramsay drove the knife into Gendry's knee. The knight let out a howl of agony, but the pain did not stop him bringing his sword around in a powerful arc, just missing Ramsay's jaw.

The Bastard of Bolton cackled, "I am Lord of the Hornwood, you should follow me, you traitor!"

Gendry's deep voice echoed out from under his helm, "I am from the south." He said no more, and continued his onslaught. His sword rose, and this time Ramsay's lack of training cost him. His left forearm was severed, and as he screamed, Gendry knocked him to the floor and reversed his blade.

The horn sounded. The battle was won. All around them, Bolton's soldiers were throwing down their arms. Gendry and Brynden looked over towards Winterfell, where the gates were opening. Then, when they looked back, Ramsay Snow was gone.

* * *

_Roose_

The day was lost. It was all lost. He, who prided himself on knowing people, had not seen Lady Dustin and Lord Ryswell's true intentions. Had they planned this all along, or was it a spur-of-the-moment decision? Then Lady Dustin's words came back to him.

_"The North remembers, Lord Bolton, and we shall have revenge for the wrongs done to us."_

He had never done anything to her. A peaceful land, a quiet people. That had always been his motto, and he had tried to apply it to the North. He had honoured the Dustins and treated her well. Ramsay. It had to be Ramsay, and his murder of Domeric, that was the wrong she sought revenge for. Roose cursed the day he raped Ramsay's mother. What could he do now? His army was in tatters, Starks all around him. He had never been a betting man, but he had gambled with everything he had, and he had lost.

He was grabbed on either shoulder by the Greatjon and Whoresbane, but he didn't really notice. There was blood everywhere, but he did not feel stronger, he felt weak. He hadn't leeched himself that morning, maybe that was his mistake, maybe the bad blood had taken over him.

The wolf was there too, and his master.

"Roose of House Bolton, Lord of the Dreadfort, you are charged with treason, murder and rebellion. In the name of His Grace King Stannis of the House Baratheon, First of His Name, Lord of the Seven Kingdoms and Protector of the Realm, I, Robb of House Stark, Lord of Winterfell and Warden of the North, sentence you to die. Do you have any last words?"

"Kill my bastard."

* * *

_Robb_

As he wiped Bolton's blood off Ice with a rag, he turned to the Greatjon. Lord Umber looked distraught.

"What's the result?"

"Helman Tallhart's dead, and Wendel Manderly. The Bastard killed my son, my Jon."

Robb felt his heart sink. Smalljon Umber had become a great friend over the course of the war. How cruel it was that he should be slain now, and by Ramsay Snow. He felt the anger course through him and swore that he would kill the Bastard of Bolton.

That would come later though, first he would have to start putting the North back to rights. Ser Helman's son Benfred and daughter Eddara had been killed by the Ironborn when they attacked Torrhen's Square, meaning his lands would fall to his brother Leobald. He had decided to ask the King to legitimise Larence Snow so he could inherit his father's lands in the Hornwood. He would marry Alys Karstark, as he had promised.

There would be time for that later. Now he would secure his home.

Robb sat astride his horse, with the Blackfish and the Greatjon on either side. Further back came Lords Blackwood, Manderly, Woolfield, Locke, Karstark and Cerwyn, Lady Mormont, Ser Gendry, Leobald Tallhart, Hother Umber and Robett Glover. In front of the now opened South Gate stood Lady Dustin and Alys Karstark, with the Ryswells standing beside their horses just to the left. They all knelt when Robb rode forwards.

"Lady Dustin, what occurred here? Explain everything."

"When Roose Bolton came North, we did not have the strength to oppose him, and we resolved to bide our time and destroy him later."

"Why?"

"His bastard slew my nephew and I loved your uncle Brandon, I did not want Bolton in the castle where Brandon is buried."

"What about you Lord Ryswell?"

Rodrik Ryswell's voice was reedy, "The Lannisters slaughtered my son Rickard at a hostage exchange. Then Bolton decided to side with the scum. We sided with Bolton, but we have helped the Starks all we could."

"What did the two of you do?"

Lady Dustin replied, "I sent one of my knights to warn Ser Rodrik Cassel and Mors Umber of Bolton's treachery, he accompanied your brother to Last Hearth. I sent the Hornwood man to you at Cerwyn. I convinced Lord Bolton to send his bastard away, leading to a weaker force remaining at Winterfell. My father led his men in the battle."

Lord Umber growled, "You still betrayed Lord Stark."

"We did."

Robb looked down at them, still on their knees, and made his decision, "You will keep your lives, you will keep your lands. Too much blood has been shed. You will lead your men home."

"When, my lord?"

"Not yet, but soon. Where is Lady Bolton?"

"At the foot of the tower," Alys Karstark said.

"What is she doing there?"

"Lady Dustin pushed her, my lord, she pulled a knife on me, and Lady Dustin pushed her."

Robb saw the look that passed between Alys and Lady Dustin. It was a cover story, a lie, but it mattered not.

"We have much work to do," he said, "And winter is upon us."


	87. Chapter 87: Balon IV

_NOTE - Just a short one this, an update on the Stormlands, and Balon's return to POV status. Enjoy!  
_

_Balon_

The news of the landing of this unknown army had caused chaos. With his father serving the King in the capital, rule of the Stormlands had fallen to himself and his brother. Donnel had been appointed castellan of Storm's End, while he ruled at his new seat of Blackhaven.

It was Maester Ambrose who brought the news to him.

"My Lord, a raven from Rain House."

He read the hastily scrawled message.

_Lord Swann. Unknown enemy, no banners, over a thousand, cannot hold, send aid. Lord Wylde_

"Who could be doing this?"

"I know not my lord, but similar reports are coming from Griffin's Roost and Evenfall Hall. They seem to be attacking all along the coast."

"Send word to my father, he must return. Bring me Ser Manfrey, Ser Ryam, Ser Clifford, Alton and my wife."

"As you say, my lord."

* * *

He smiled at his heavily pregnant wife as she entered his solar. Alton and Ser Clifford were already present, while Maester Ambrose sat at the table, pen an dink in hand.

"Where are the Dondarrions?" Ser Manfrey and his son Ryam were the only two men who still carried that name, but only after Ryam's legitimisation by King Stannis.

"Gone." grunted Clifford, "Rode out the main gate this morning. Cowards."

"We're well rid of them," Allyria said, "Why do you want us Balon?"

"We have had news from Rain House. Lord Casper Wylde is under attack from an unknown force bearing no banners. So is Evenfall Hall and Griffin's Roost has fallen."

"We must respond," Clifford immediately said, "Our family is new to ruling, we cannot look weak."

"I agree. Maester Ambrose, call the banners."

"All of them, my lord?"

"Yes, all. Have them gather, errr..."

Clifford came to his rescue, "They're attacking all along the coast, so Storm's End, Mistwood, Crow's Nest and Greenstone will be next. Greenstone is an island and Mistwood is too isolated. Have the southern houses muster at Crow's Nest and the northern lords at Storm's Ene, under your brother's command."

"Thank you. Maester, you will send the ravens. Also write to my cousin Ser Byram, have him bring his ships from Swanton to Estermont to strengthen their defences. Finally write to Lord Caron, requesting that my sister come here to keep my wife company, the baby will arrive soon and I don't want her alone. Uncle, prepare the men. Alton, ready my horse and armour."

When the others had left, Allyria smiled and pressed a quick kiss to his cheek, "I'm sure Cassana and I will be fine."

"Look after your mother," he said to her stomach.

* * *

Once again he set out on campaign. This time was different though. This was to be a defensive campaign, not one of conquest. Six hundred of his men had joined with a thousand Stonehelm men under his cousin Ser Gawen, Lord Caron's levies and Lord Selmy's troops.

Balon got on well with Arstan Selmy and Lord Caron's bastard brother Rolland Storm, his sister Cassana's husband, but not with Lord Bryce Caron himself. The man was rather two-dimensional, and while he could certainly talk the talk, Balon doubted his ability to follow it up. All in all, Bryce was a man focused on aesthetics and little else.

He rode with Lord Selmy, except the day they were joined by Lady Mertyn's troops, when he rode with her commander, Ser Willem Wagstaff. Other houses joined them as they marched. The Kellington brothers who had served at Blackhaven brought four hundred men, the Tudburys and Wensingtons another seven hundred between them. It would not be the largest army possible, but it would suffice.

Alton also rode alongside him, and they had grown close during the lad's time as a squire. His humility was something rare in the heir to a House which had gained powerful influence through their blood ties to the Baratheons. Alton was Lord Eldon Estermont's great-grandson and third-in-line to rule Greenstone, after his father Ser Alyn and his father Ser Aemon. Alton had certainly matured in his service, growing taller and stronger, though still lean, as all Estermonts were, but he still had the thin layer of brown fuzz on his top lip.

"My lord?" he had asked on the third day of the march.

"Yes lad?"

"You said Greenstone might be attacked next."

"I did."

"Can you stop that happening? My little sister is there. Ella is only eight."

"I will do my best."

* * *

He met with Lord Lester Morrigen in his solar at the summit of the highest tower of Crow's Nest. Lord Lester had been the first of the rebellious Stormlords to bend the knee to King Stannis. He was a pale man, a trait accentuated by his pitch black crow feather cloak and the dark hair on his head and top lip, and his bushy eyebrows.

"Lord Morrigen, we must march soon."

"I would advise waiting, my lord. Houses Staedmon and Swygert have not yet arrived and your brother's army will not have gathered yet either."

"Very well, but soon we will have no choice. I would like to see Guyard please, it has been too long since I last saw him."

"He is not here. When Renly died, he stayed with Margaery Tyrell. He wrote saying that he surrendered his inheritance to his little brother Richard, and I have not heard from him since."

"That is a shame."

When he returned to his tent that night, Balon wondered how this would all turn out. Who could possibly be attacking the Stormlands? Stannis had practically won the war hadn't he? Joffrey had been tried and sentenced to death, Renly was dead, Victarion Greyjoy's fleet would not come this far east, so who did that leave?

He rolled over, deciding not to think about who these new attackers were, rather to focus on destroying them. He would survive this. The last thing he wanted was for his child to grow up as he and Donnel had, missing a parent.

* * *

The next morning he was called to Lord Morrigen's solar again. The Old Crow held out a raven scroll for him to read. It was in the hand of Maester Ambrose, but the content was clear enough.

_Lord Swann. Return to Blackhaven, Dornish army moving up the Boneway, thirty thousand men. The baby will arrive soon. Ambrose._

"Shit."

Lord Lester's expression grew more sombre, "There is more. This arrived not long after that one."

The next scroll was in his brother's writing.

_Brother, we need help. By the time you read this, we will be under siege. They are flying Targaryen banners. It is the Golden Company, ten thousand strong. Send word to father and the King. I will hold here. They have taken Poddingfield and Tarth. Help brother. Donnel. _

Morrigen looked at him, "What do we do?"

"I have no idea. We are well and truly fucked."


	88. Chapter 88: Andrew V

_NOTE - Another chapter, and yet another move in the game of thrones. Enjoy!  
_

_Andrew  
_

As the army drew close to Volantis, the Queen became more and more quarrelsome. Her tirades about her right to the Iron Throne grew more violent, and her defiance of her nephew Aegon's claim grew more desperate. The reactions of her advisors were just as Andrew had expected. Jorah fawned over her as always, Grey Worm stood their in silence, and Daario encouraged her, as did Moqorro. A rift had emerged in her councils, between them and those who still dared to tell her the truth, Andrew, Edric and Barristan.

"You would have me give up everything I have fought so long for?" She screamed at him one day.

"For the good of the Seven Kingdoms, yes I would!" He shouted back.

"I have done all you asked of me ser, but I will not do this." Her expression was determined. "And if you continue to defy me, I will have you killed."

"Seven Hells!" He swore, "You cannot keep threatening me like this unless you actually mean to carry out the sentence! You sound like a petulant child."

Jorah growled, "Have a care for your words, ser."

"Fuck my words! Can none of you see that this path will get us all killed? Aegon has a larger army than we do."

"I have House Tyrell. Eighty thousand men." She told him.

"For how long? They rose for Aegon, who we now know has left for Westeros without us. They will not back you against him, at least you cannot depend on them doing so."

"The people cry out for me, they sew dragon banners and ..." He pitied her really. She clung to these last few threads of hope, though she knew they were futile. But her desperation would get them all killed. She was just a child, but this child would bring chaos unless she listened.

"Your Grace, I want peace for the Seven Kingdoms. I believed you were the best hope of that. Now I see I was wrong. Your sheer bloody-minded refusal to let go will plunge Westeros into another Dance of Dragons."

"Except I am the only one with dragons."

"Which you cannot control! We have not seen Drogon in weeks now! Viserion does nothing! Only Rhaegal is any use to you, and he doesn't even obey you any more!"

"He should! I am his mother!"

"You are not! You are the girl who happened to be around when they hatched! Their mother was a dragon!" This was the third time that week they had had this argument, but something told him this was different.

"How dare you! I have had enough of this. Jorah, Daario, seize him. He will be fed to Viserion."

As the bear knight and the sellsword drew their blades and advanced on him, he was momentarily stunned. He had never for a moment thought she would do it. Was she really that stupid? It turned out that she was.

As he was dragged out to where the dragons sat tethered to the ground, he made one last attempt to reason with her.

"Your Grace, do this and they will reject you as soon as they hear! They do not want another Mad King! You must not give them that image!"

She responded calmly, "You have counseled me, Ser Andrew Estermont, but counseled badly. Not through stupidity, but through defence of your old loyalties. I, Daenerys of the House Targaryen, Rightful Queen of Westeros, Lady of the Seven Kingdoms and Protector of the Realm, sentence you to die. Do you have any last words?"

As he felt the heat of Viserion's maw gaping before him, he laughed. He came to see a dragon, and here he was, much closer than he liked to be.

"No? Then die." There was fire in her eyes again. Moqorro's deep voice began to chant. Andrew was aware of the strangest details in those moments; how the sun glinted off Ser Barristan's white armour, the stench of rotting flesh from Viserion's jaws, how starving he was. When had he last eaten? _I suppose it doesn't matter now. _

He closed his eyes and knelt.

The roar shook his eyes open and the screeching that followed snapped him back to his senses. All around him was chaos. The Unsullied were desperately trying to keep the Queen back, but she pushed through them. Looking back towards the dragon, Andrew saw the source of all the commotion.

Rhaegal and Viserion were rolling on the ground, fighting tooth and claw. On Rhaegal's back, clinging desperately to one of the spikes rising form the green dragon's back, was Edric. Huge hammer in hand, he smacked at the white dragon.

Ser Jorah bellowed an order, "Throw your spears! Bring down the green one!"

The Queen countered him, "NO! Don't hurt him!" She walked towards the fighting dragons, "Rhaegal! Listen to me! Stop! Stop now!"

Andrew laughed hysterically, had she not listened to him at all? Rhaegal was not hers any longer, and would not obey. When the dragons broke apart, Rhaegal flew low over the ground. He saw the claws come towards him.

"Shit. Oh gods no! Edric, don't you dare! Edric!" he shouted at his ward, but the dragon rider hooted with triumph.

Andrew felt Rhaegal's claw hit him like a charging bull, and then he was flying. They circled around the army camp, high above and out of reach. Then Rhaegal let go. He screamed as he fell. Then, just before he hit the ground, he felt the impact. It was like landing on a slab of stone, but warmer. Edric grabbed onto him and pulled him up behind him on the dragon's back.

"How do you like flying?"

"I don't! You're a lunatic! I would kill you now, but I don't know how to fly this thing!"

As he said this, Rhaegal let out a roar and a burst of flame, before circling and flying off to the north, away from the army, and away from his 'mother'.

Edric smiled, "If I weren't here, he'd drop you and eat you."

"That's very encouraging." Then it struck him. "You know we can't go back, don't you? You just attacked one of her dragons and stole another, just to help a condemned man escape."

"Rhaegal isn't hers any more."

"Where do we go now?"

"Your choice, west or east?"

"West, but can you land somewhere? I'm starving."

* * *

Rhaegal caught them a deer and cooked it for them. After they had eaten, Andrew turned to Edric.

"We must go west, we must warn them. Tell them what's coming."

"Why?" Edric asked, "Why don't we just side with Aegon?"

"Her father was mad, she is mad, what are the chances that he is any more sane? Add to that the fact that if there is another Dance of Dragons, Aegon hasn't got any, so she will win. It has to be Stannis. I see now what I didn't see before. He is the only way to secure peace. The Targaryen's will bring nothing but war."

"So, which way?"

"You're agreeing with me? Just like that?"

"Yes."

"Why?"

Edric leaned back, and Andrew realised how much he had grown. Just past his sixteenth nameday, the lad was a man grown. Built like his father, tall and broad, but minus the habits of drinking and promiscuity, so far.

"I grew up at Storm's End when my father palmed my off on my uncle Renly. Only Renly didn't care about me. I was a bastard, and bad for his image. He only cared about his image. Ser Cortnay Penrose was all I had as a father figure, and then, after all he had done for me, he sent me to Stannis. I know he did it for my own good, but he should have let me stay, I was old enough to decide. Then Davos sent me away with you. You taught me to fight, you took me east, I wouldn't have Rhaegal without you, you taught me to think. I am agreeing because you are the closest thing I have to a father, and as King Stannis is so keen to remind everyone, our duty is to obey our fathers."

Andrew was not an emotional man, not normally, but he felt the tears swell. He looked on the lad as his son, and he was proud of him.

* * *

They flew low over Essos, as fast as they could. Volantis, a city it would have taken a day to march around, passed beneath them in minutes. They stopped at night to eat and sleep, but were on the move again when the sun rose. On the fifth day, they flew over Pentos. He laughed as he saw Illyrio's manse. No doubt the cheesemonger would be horrified to know that the knight and squire he sent to help Daenerys had actually stolen one of her dragons.

They spent the night in the hills to the south of the trading city before moving on at first light. Despite their speed, it was dark before they reached Dragonstone. Edric had Rhaegal land at the summit of one of the towers. The guard who had been on duty there had a sigil on his breast, a black ship on grey. _Lord Davos._

"Where is the King's Hand?" he shouted down at the quavering guardsman.

"He's gone, took the fleet south. The King's in the city though."

"Thank you, soldier. Edric, take us up onto Dragonmont, we'll spend the night there and go to the city in the morning."

Andrew did not sleep that night. He would have a lot of explaining to do in the morning. He watched as Rhaegal curled up in a cave and Edric fell asleep leaning on his dragon's foreleg. _Gods, Stannis isn't going to believe this._


	89. Chapter 89: Bran V

_NOTE - Back beyond the Wall this time. Enjoy.  
_

_Bran_

They walked for miles and miles, day after day. Bran had lost track of how long they had been trekking north. The wights came nearly every night now, and fighting them off grew harder every time. Up through the Frostfangs Osha led them, following Jojen's dreams, and Bran's. The haunted forest was cold, colder then he had believed possible, and the snow was now so deep that Ser Harrion and Hodor had to practically dig out a passage for the others to follow.

That night they made camp under an ancient weirwood. Bran sat with his back to the tree as he watched his companions. Meera was skinning a rabbit, Benjen Umber watching her hungrily. Ben had suffered most from hunger, or at least he moaned enough to make anyone think so. Jojen sat further back from the fire, rolled up in his furs. Bran worried about his friend. His dreams came more frequently now, and each took its own toll. He coughed and his whole body shook. Hodor sat not far away, humming happily to himself. Bran envied him his ignorance.

Osha and Harrion returned not much later. Though they claimed they were hunting, Bran knew that was not all they were doing. Ben said he'd followed them once, and felt like he needed to carve out his eyes in order to forget the sight.

"No luck, again." The knight huffed as he threw himself down by the fire.

"Maybe Summer can get us something," Bran volunteered.

"Aye, why not? He moves more quietly than we do."

* * *

_It had been many cycles of the sky-light since he'd seen prey. He was hungry. His man had sent him out for prey, but he could find none. He missed his pack-brothers and pack-sisters. Big Grey, their leader and the silent one and wild black brother, quiet sister and fierce sister. He howled for them at night, where were they? Was he alone? He had a new pack now; his man, giant-fool-man, big-steel-man and the stick-woman, little-steel-man, who fought with big-steel-man every night and complained to stick-woman, and green-boy and green-girl. His man liked green-girl, a lot, Summer could feel it._

_His stomach growled, and he growled back. He smelt it, and his mouth began to water. Antler-prey. It had been so long, he would have to kill it and bring big-steel-man and little-steel-man to it to bring it back for his man to eat, but first he would eat. It would be big enough for all of his pack, it would have to be to survive this far beyond the man-wall, this deep into the stone-frost-hills. It was walking towards him, this was just too perfect. He barely contained his pounce when he saw the man sitting on it's back._

_The man was black-furred, and his paws were black too. Summer did not like his smell, it was dead-blood and rot-meat and cold. Cold all over. It was the smell of death, but the black-fur-man was not dead. Then he turned his head. His eyes were black too, and he saw Summer. Then he opened his mouth and said something. Summer didn't know what he said, but he turned the elk and began heading in the direction of the fire. Summer growled, he had to protect his man. The dead had come after his man before, and if this one wasn't dead, then he wasn't a wolf. He felt his man in his mind, heard his voice. _

_"It's alright, Summer, we'll deal with him."_

_Summer growled again. He knew that meant that big-steel-man would fight him. Somehow, Summer didn't think that would be enough. He followed the antler-prey and black-fur-man closely. He had to protect his man._

* * *

Bran opened his eyes and turned to Ser Harrion.

"There's a man in black coming, he's riding an elk."

"Pull the other one." The knight dismissed him.

"Summer saw him! He's dead!"

"Shit." In a second, Harrion was on his feet, sword drawn. Osha grabbed her spear and Ben's hand went to his sword-hilt. Bran saw Meera move over to her ailing brother, crouching low, spear ready.

The dead man entered the clearing and Harrion attacked. With unexpected speed, the elk reared and a voice came from under the man's hood, stopping the knight in his tracks.

"Brandon Stark?"

"Yes?"

"You must come with me. You must all come with me." The voice was a rattling whisper, but loud. He held out an arm, and a raven landed upon it.

"Who are you?"

"One who guards the realms of men."

"You are in the Night's Watch?"

"Once, long ago."

"Show your face."

"No."

"Why are you here?"

"To take you to him."

"Who?"

"He who will teach you to fly."

A screech cut through the night. The dead man dismounted, drawing a sword. It was black, like his hands. "The dead come, Brandon Stark, you must decide."

Before Bran could speak again, the wights entered the clearing. Harrion moved to attack them but the dead ranger moved faster. Two swings of his black blade and the leading wights fell. His black cloak flew in the wind, and he killed them all. Turning back to the small party, he spoke again.

"I say again. Brandon Stark, you must come with me. You must all come with me."

Ser Harrion whispered in Bran's ear, "Might not be too bad an idea that, he's a bloody good sword."

He raised his voice, "We're coming with you Ranger."


	90. Chapter 90: Stannis

_NOTE - As requested by 'doctor anthony', a chapter from the POV of Stannis Baratheon himself, First of His Name, Lord of the Seven Kingdoms and Protector of the Realm.  
_

_Stannis  
_

He was breaking his fast with his wife, reading over a few reports from his various lords. He had wondered if Lara would be offended by his distraction, but she was very understanding of his duties, especially now his Hand was on the other side of the realm. He reached for the final raven scroll and broke the twin lion seal. Kevan's report began with the usual courtesies, and Stannis was pleased to read that his Master of War was moving on the Westerland rebels. As he moved on to the second paragraph, the words '_news __of paramount importance to the safety of the realm_' set the alarm bells ringing in his head. _What could he possibly mean?_

Before he could read it however, Ser Andros Celtigar burst into the room.

"Your Grace! Dragon over the bay!"

He was on his feet immediately, "How far?"

"Less than ten miles, and the speed it's going we don't have long."

"Sound the alarm, call out the guard, where is my daughter?"

"I brought her here Your Grace, it was she who spotted the beast." The knight stepped aside to let Shireen into the room. She looked scared, and rightfully so.

"Shireen, stay here with the Queen. You three," he turned to the Kingsguard who were present, Sers Robar Royce, Lucas Rambston and Andros, "stay with them, keep them safe." Then as the bells began to ring throughout the Red Keep, he bellowed out of the door, "Get me my squire!"

* * *

Though Rickon Stark was officially his squire, the lad was still really too young for such a role, so he had appointed two other lads, in the form of Alyn Blackwood and Lucos Chyttering. The boys were both thirteen and were among Ser Marlon's best pupils. Though Lucos was technically Lord Chyttering, his family home was being run by his widowed mother while he was in the capital. Alyn's position had been as recognition of both his skill and his father's increasing prominence and influence. With Lord Stark's promise to grant Lord Tytos Blackwood's second son a lordship and modest lands in the North, and the rumours surrounding the brokering of a betrothal between Alyn and Wylla Manderly, one of Shireen's new ladies, Stannis knew that the Blackwoods had taken the place of the Freys as the Riverlands' second most powerful house, and he would keep them on his side.

None of that mattered now though. As soon as he had been strapped into his armour he marched out, his squires trotting behind him, trying to keep up. Stannis had always walked fast, Maester Cressen had insisted he walked too fast. Now though, he was glad he walked fast. Lord Commander Triston Tally met him in the corridor.

"Your Grace, it's hovering over the main courtyard, there are two men on it's back, they insist they must talk to you."

"Show me."

As he walked out into the courtyard, the Kingsguard converged around him. All along the walls, archers and ballistae aimed up at the dragon, but Stannis was not sure how effective they would be. _My throne was all but secure, why am I cursed with these Targaryens? _Filling his lungs, he prepared to shout up to the dragon's rider. He was lucky that, like Robert, he had inherited their father Lord Steffon's powerful voice.

"Who are you? What do you want?"

Ser Bryen Swann, the newly-promoted commander of the Red Keep garrison added his own inquiry, "And who do you name King?"

A voice echoed down from the winged creature, "Sers Andrew Estermont and Edric Storm, we need to speak to you Your Grace. May we land?"

He thought about this. Should the dragon land, it could wreak havoc among his men. However, where it was in the air it could have done that, and hadn't. In addition to this, his curiosity was piqued.

"Very well, but you will hand over your weapons and come inside, away from your beast."

"As you command."

The green beast landed heavily upon the courtyard's stone floor. The two knights who climbed down from it's monstrous back handed over their swords and were quickly shepherded into the Keep. As they left, Ser Edric suggested that the dragon would be happier if he were fed, recommending a sheep or pig. Not wanting a hungry dragon in his castle, Stannis sent two men to bring a carcass from the kitchens.

* * *

They headed straight for the Small Council chamber. He sat in the central chair, and waited for the others to take their seats. The Small Council was indeed small now. The seat to his left, belonging to the King's Hand, was empty as Lord Seaworth was away with the fleet. The chair on his right, that of the Master of War, was also empty as Kevan Lannister was on campaign. Those members who did remain soon arrived. Lord Velaryon, who had taken on the duties of both the Master of Coin and the Master of Ships, Lord Rykker, who was filling in as Master of Laws during Lord Celtigar's absence, Lord Swann and Grand Maester Gormon. Ser Bryen and Ser Andar Royce stood to one side, while two Kingsguard stood at the door and two more stood behind him. Once they were all seated, he turned to the new arrivals.

"Ser Andrew, you are my cousin and you were in Lord Seaworth's service during my campaigning in the Riverlands. Ser Edric, you are my brother's bastard son, conceived on my wedding bed. What I want to know is, how in seven hells you got hold of a dragon."

Andrew stepped forwards, "Your Grace, we must begin at the start. It is a long story, and all will be explained, so please be patient with us."

"Do not presume to instruct me, ser."

"Of course not, Your Grace. It began when your brother's ship came into the harbour. Ser Corliss Penny was sent by Ser Cortnay Penrose to take Edric to safety, as he believed Lord Swann would kill the boy. Lord Seaworth agreed to keep him safe and Ser Corliss left. Edric was to pose as my squire. Ser Axell Florent found out who Edric was and swore to kill him in order to gain your favour. To keep Edric safe, Lord Davos sent him away to Pentos, and I went as his guardian. Once in Pentos, we were hosted by Magister Illyrio Mopatis, who claimed that a Targaryen restoration was afoot. He wanted the two of us to join Daenerys. We agreed."

"Why? You are mine own kin, yet you would forsake me so easily?"

"I will explain. I was charged with keeping Edric safe, and Illyrio swore that Daenerys would legitimise him and give him the Stormlands. Another reason was that at the time we left the capital, Tywin Lannister still held the Westerlands, the Greyjoy Rebellion had begun again, House Frey had rebelled in the Riverlands and the Boltons in the North, Renly was still very much alive and the Reach and Stormlands still supported him. The realm was not at all as it is now. I thought that the Targaryens could restore peace."

"You have not said why you are here now."

"Almost there Your Grace, there is a little more to tell." Ser Andrew went on to tell of how they came to Volantis, of the Spider's great scheme, of the voyage to Meereen and the red priest, of Edric's taming of Rhaegal, of the decision to leave Meereen, the long march, all of Daenerys' advisors, good and bad, Ser Loras' forced wedding, the lack of control she had over her dragons, how one hadn't been seen for weeks and the other would not obey her. Then he moved on to describe her increasing paranoia and violence, how he had tried to speak sense to her and she had tried to feed him to the dragon Viserion, of how Edric and Rhaegal had rescued him and their flight back to Westeros.

"To conclude Your Grace, I regret my folly in supporting Daenerys Targaryen, for I now see that the madness is in her blood. If it is in her blood, it is in Aegon's too. Our only hope is a non-Targaryen King, and that is you."

Stannis leaned back in his chair. It was a lot to take in. "Edric, what role can you and your dragon play in my realm?"

"Daenerys has two dragons. The only way you can defeat her is with a dragon of your own. We injured Viserion in our escape, but by the time they land he will be well again."

"Are you offering to fight Daenerys' dragons? Surely your beast will not attack his brothers or her? She did raise him."

"His name is Rhaegal, and he is mine. She has no control over him any more." Edric said. He was his father's son, the true steel. Tall, broad and fearsomely strong. A born warrior, and Stannis needed that on his side.

Ser Andrew spoke up, "The only example I can think of Your Grace, is that it is the same as Lord Stark and his direwolf. The wolf follows Stark's every command, fights alongside him and protects him. Rhaegal does the same for Edric, only a dragon is a bit more dangerous than a wolf."

The discussion was interrupted by the arrival of a messenger. The man handed him a scroll and ran off. Ripping open the seal, he read the scroll. What he read made his heart leap to his mouth.

_Your Grace, the Stormlands are under attack. They are flying Targaryen banners and those of the Golden Company. Griffin's Roost, Poddingfield and Tarth have fallen. Rain House is besieged. They are striking all along the coast. Quite possible that Estermont also taken. They have besieged Storm's End. My brother holds out, but is not optimistic of his chances. A Dornish army marches up the Boneway towards the Marches. Come soon, bring help. We cannot stand. Balon Swann, Lord of Blackhaven, Acting Lord Paramount of the Stormlands._

He passed the letter to Lord Swann, then stood. "Ser Andrew, Ser Edric, you know the enemy like no-one else. You know their plan. I want your advice on this. Ser Harlan, get my commanders in here, and send a man to bring my wife and daughter." He added as an afterthought, "And bring the raven scroll from Lord Lannister that's on my table!"

He was damned if he would let the Targaryens win. The throne was his, by right. It was not a question of wanting. It was his.

* * *

As he waited for his commanders to gather, he read the latter half of Kevan's report.

_Ser Addam Marbrand has returned from Dorne with news of paramount importance to the safety of the realm. Doran Martell has cast in with the Targaryens, as have the Tyrells. An army of the Golden Company will land in the Stormlands, along with Daenerys Targaryen and her dragons. Then Dorne and the Reach will rise against you. This war will be the hardest we have ever fought. It is to that end that I move to subdue the rebels in my lands so soon. I hope to return to the capital soon, the army of the West at my back. Kevan Lannister, Lord of Casterly Rock, Lord Paramount of the Westerlands, Warden of the West and Master of War._

"Shit." Stannis rarely swore, but this merited it. He looked up and saw not only the Small Council, but also some of his more prominent knights. Ser Andar Royce, Justin Massey, Richard Horpe, Bryen Swann and Marlon Manderly. His Queen and daughter were also there, Rickon Stark at Shireen's side, as always.

Recovering his composure, he began to explain the situation. He saw their faces fall, the despair in their eyes. Did they have so little faith in him?

"I will call what men I can together. I have already written to Lord Tully and Lord Arryn requesting soldiers. I do not expect much from the Riverlands, they have given their all and have suffered most at the hands of the Lannisters. The Vale however, is untouched, and it's armies are still strong. Lord Protector Royce has just stepped down and Lord Arryn has begun to rule. He is young and will want to begin his rule with a military success. We can expect quite a few men from the Vale. I have also summoned the men of the Crownlands."

"What of the North, Your Grace?" Ser Justin asked. Stannis pointed to the map.

"The North is battered and now in the grip of winter. As far as we know, Roose Bolton still sits in Winterfell. No, I will not ask the North. Lord Lannister promises that he will put his men at my disposal as soon as he has defeated the rebels in his lands, but I think it would be best to have them hold the West. The Tyrells natural target is to push for Casterly Rock and knock out the West early in the war. I will instruct Kevan to hold his southern border. As soon as the Crownland troops are gathered at the city, I will lead them south to aid the Stormlands. Lord Swann will accompany me, as will Ser Justin and Ser Richard. I leave the rule of the city to Lord Velaryon and Queen Lara, until such a time as Lord Seaworth or I return."

Ser Andrew stepped forward, "What of us, Your Grace?"

"You, Ser Andrew, will ride with me. Ser Edric, you shall ride your be- Rhaegal," he corrected himself, "and make for Crow's Nest, where Lord Balon Swann has gathered his forces. Tell him not to engage unless there is no other option and inform him that we are on our way. You will leave immediately."

"Yes, Your Grace."

"Now!"

As his brother's bastard left the chamber, Stannis found himself wondering if his son would be so like his father.

* * *

He had been close to bringing peace to the realm, so close. Now the war would begin again. He stood on the balcony of his chambers in Maegor's Holdfast, with Shireen and Lara. Ser Donnel of the Kingsguard stood silent in the background. He was always aware of the presence of his silent guardians. It would take some getting used to, being shadowed at all times. He had decided that when he departed, only four of the white knights would go with him, Sers Triston, Donnel, Robar and Lucas. The other three would remain, with Ser Andros in command, to protect his family. He knew that some Kings had viewed the Kingsguard as the King's personal guardians, leaving the protection of his family to others, but he was not so paranoid as to feel he needed seven knights about him at all times. Also, what was the good of protecting himself, if his family were not protected? It was his duty to protect them.

He had no idea how long he would be gone. Would the child be born during his absence? Not having a son had never really bothered him before he became King, as he had nothing to inherit. Now, it mattered less, as the Iron Throne would fall to Shireen, that much had been made clear. He still wanted a son though.

He saw Shireen shiver. It was getting colder. He pulled her closer to him, putting his thick cloak around her. She would do well as Queen. He was proud of her.


	91. Chapter 91: The Wall

_NOTE - This chapter uses the format of the larger battle scenes, mainly because I wanted to show the wider events and could not easily compact that into one POV. I found this one rather difficult to write, so I apologise if it's not quite like my usual stuff. Sorry it's been a while. Enjoy.  
_

_Jon_

The horn sounded twice. In the dead of night, the deep blasts carried easily across Castle Black. As the brothers ran to the Wall, Jon found himself wondering whether it would be himself or Ser Alliser commanding the defence. He shook the thought from his head, it didn't matter. The Wall would be defended, no matter what the future would be. Looking out over the ramparts, such as they were, he saw Mance Rayder's host gathered just out of arrow range in front of the Haunted Forest. _How will the others view this?_ As he joined the other officers, he found the answer to his question.

"Ah, the wildling-loving bastard is here to beg us not to kill his precious allies." Ser Alliser sneered.

"Now Alliser, I'm sure he's going to defend the Wall like the rest of us," said Othell Yarwyck.

"He'd put wildlings in our cloaks, why wouldn't he want to put them in our homes?" Janos Slynt retorted.

"Enough!" shouted Cotter Pyke, "Let us deal with the matter at hand."

"Agreed," Ser Denys added, "The wildlings have sent a deputation forward, see, they carry a white flag."

"More of a rag, and it's dirty brown."

"Shut up, Slynt. It is clearly a request for a meeting. We have no Lord Commander, so you both must go. Pyke and I will hold the Wall until you return."

Alliser frowned, "I have nothing to say to the scum, why should I go down there?"

This sparked another argument, during which Jon looked out over the Wall towards the wildlings. What was that in the trees? Suddenly, the wildling army began to run forward, but there was no order to the move, it was a panic, as if they were routing.

"See? The barbarians are attacking!" Slynt shouted in triumph. By the Old Gods, the man was an idiot.

Ser Alliser, whatever else he was, was not an idiot, and he recognised it for what it truly was, "That's not attack, that's a rout."

"What in seven hells is going on?" Thoren Smallwood asked.

The horn sounded again. Once. Twice. Three times. The officers paled.

"That's...that's not possible," gasped Slynt.

"Unfortunately, it is." Jon said grimly, he turned to Ser Alliser, "We must open the gates."

"And let the walkers in?"

"No, they cannot pass the Wall. We must let the wildlings in."

"Why? If the walkers cannot pass, what threat do they pose us?"

"They cannot pass, but their wights can, and the more wildlings die out there, the more wights they will have to throw at us!"

"I will not let wildlings into Castle Black!"

"Fine!" Jon shouted, turning his back and marching away. He ran down the Wall and set out to find his men. Upon finding Jarmen and Theon, he explained his plan. He heard Ser Alliser's voice shouting after him,

"Go and join them out there if you care so much, turncloak bastard!"

After he explained the plan to his friends, he asked their opinion.

"Jon," Theon cautioned, "They'll have your head for this."

"I have to do it, you know I do. Will you help me?"

"Fine, but I'm just obeying orders."

* * *

_Alliser  
_

The bastard's arrogance was infuriating, surely that above anything else proved he was no Lord Commander. His sheer childishness in marching away rather than standing and fighting showed him as what he was, a bastard born of bad blood. When the command was his, Alliser would remove Lord Snow from command of the Nightfort and give it to someone more suited, Slynt maybe.

"Ser Alliser!" Ser Jaremy shouted, "They've raised the gate!"

"What is Emmett doing? I told him to keep it shut!"

"Snow's gone out there with Buckwell and Greyjoy, Lord Commander!" Slynt replied.

Alliser cuffed the man, "I'm not the Lord Commander yet, you fool. You say the bastard's outside the Wall?"

"Yes, what do we do?"

"Close the gate. Ser Jaremy, take ten men and close the gate. If Emmett won't close it again, kill him as a traitor."

"Ser Alliser, I don't think..." Othell Yarwyck began to intervene.

"Shut up! Lord Snow has gone out to the wildlings, which leaves me in command. Do as you're set!"

Ser Jaremy snapped out his blade and ran for the stair.

When he had restored calm to his brothers, he looked out at the wildling host. Something was wrong. Their unorganised flight had changed, and now they slowed and fought the enemy to their rear. A party of four wildlings on garrons had trotted forward to meet Lord Snow and his traitor friends. That did not bother him. What did worry him was the streams of men in wildling furs pouring from the Haunted Forest. Except Ser Alliser knew they were not men, they were the dead. Among them strode the Others, tall and white with blades of ice blue. An ear-piercing screech came from their ranks, and the hordes of wights advanced. In that moment, Ser Alliser Thorne was scared.

* * *

_Tormund  
_

Tormund Giantsbane rode beside Mance Rayder as he went to speak with the crow. With the light provided by the torches in the crows' hands, he could clearly see their leader. The crow was young, but looked like he knew how to use the fancy sword on his hip. Tormund hefted his big axe. _Lets see how good little crow really is. _Yet before he could do that, Mance wanted to speak.

The crow spoke first, "My name is Jon Snow, Commander of the Nightfort. I am one of the contenders for the position of Lord Commander. I am here to parley with you."

Tormund couldn't resist, "So the Magnar did kill the Old Bear?"

"He did, but now he and his son sit in chains in Castle Black."

Mance interrupted, "Jon Snow, you are Lord Stark's bastard. I know you, I was at Winterfell when Lord Commander Qorgyle came to see your father, and again when King Robert visited."

"How could you have been?"

"I scaled the Wall at Long Barrow and disguised myself as a bard."

"Enough of this Mance!" Tormund growled, "Our people are dying back there, either get him to let us through, or kill him and give the order to attack."

The crow called Snow did not like this, "Kill me, and you will never get behind the Wall"

"Won't we?" Mance smiled, "Gerrick, bring the horn."

As Gerrick Kingsblood ran back to the army to get the horn, Snow and his two crow friends paled.

One of them spoke, "The Horn of Joramun? That's just a myth."

"Nay crow, it's real enough to do the job." Tormund was enjoying watching the horror on their faces, "So you can let us in, or we can bring down your fancy wall."

Then the leader spoke, "We can let you through on two conditions. First, that you fight to defend the Wall with us, and second, that you agree to stop raiding the lands south of the Wall."

"Fight alonside crows! I will not do it Mance!"

"Be quiet Tormund. What would we get in return, Lord Snow?"

"Freedom to live on the Gift, behind the safety of the Wall."

"And bow our knees to his pretty little black crows, no doubt!" Tormund raised his axe, "I say we kill 'em and blow the horn."

"Enough Tormund! Go and help them with the fighting. The wights have come again."

"Will I fuck! I'll kill this crow and stick his balls down his throat."

Mance put his hand on his sword, and Tormund knew he had to give in.

"Fine, I'll go." He turned his garron. Tormund knew exactly what would happen now. Mance would agree, and he would have no say. It didn't matter though, because he knew Mance would never bend his knee to anyone, and that was the key to keeping the Free Folk's loyalty, as he himself had tried before Mance had come.

* * *

_Jon_

When the one called Tormund had ridden off, Mance turned back to him.

"Jon Snow, I will accept your offer, with one exception."

"Name it."

"My people will not bend the knee to anyone."

"I do not ask that you bend the knee, I ask that you help us."

"The Free Folk will not like it, but we accept."

"My thanks, Mance Rayder. I shall return and tell them of your decision." As he turned, he heard the great steel hinges of the gate begin to move. _Thorne's shutting me out to die._

"It would appear they do not want to talk." Mance said, "If they will not let us in, I will have to sound the horn." The gates slammed shut as the King-Beyond-the-Wall spoke.

"What good will that do you? If you bring down the Wall, the Others can run riot across all of Westeros, where will you hide then?"

"I do not know, but I promised my people I would get them south, and so I shall. They say winter never comes to Dorne, maybe there. There are many strong castles between here and the south." Mance leaned forward, "You and I know we shall have to work together in this, but your people do not, and neither do mine. The only way they will do that is in the face of no other option."

"You will bring down the Wall to let the Others rule Westeros?"

"I will bring down the Wall to unite the Free Folk and the kneelers. It is the only way! When Gerrick Kingsblood returns I shall sound the horn, convince your people by then, Jon Snow, or it will be death for us all."

He had no option, he ran back to the gate.


	92. Chapter 92: The Wall II

_NOTE - THE WALL II - Sorry it's been so long since the last update, I got very distracted. Enjoy!  
_

_Jon_

He ran to the gate and pounded upon it, knowing that it was in vain.

"Let us in you bastards, or we are all going to die!"

"Just you Lord Snow, just you. The Lord Commander's orders are to not let you back in." Ser Jaremy Rykker's voice echoed from an arrowslit which had appeared in the gate.

"Thorne isn't Lord Commander yet."

"Once you're dead he will be." Rykker poked a bow through the port and nocked an arrow, "I'm sorry Snow, but traitors must die."

The arrow never left the string. Rykker grunted, before his body fell back inside the gate. Iron Emmett's face appeared at the opening.

"Gate going up, Commander."

Once inside, Jon led Theon, Jarmen and Emmett up to the top of the Wall. Thorne would not back down, not unless Jon could convince the others. He pushed past the ranks of his brothers to the officers.

"Bastard! How did you get in traitor?" Thorne snarled.

"It doesn't matter. What matters is that I have spoken with Mance Rayder. He has the Horn of Joramun, and he will sound it unless we let his people through."

"Where is Rykker?" Slynt's jowled face grew purple as he spat his contempt.

"Bound and gagged in the gatehouse for attempting to kill me, on your orders." Jon replied. Emmett and Theon had wanted to kill him, but Jon knew he could not sink to Thorne's level without tearing the Watch apart. It was for that reason that he chose to blame Slynt for Rykker's actions rather than Ser Alliser. Like it or not, he needed the man. He did not need Slynt.

"I did no such thing!" Slynt blustered, but Jon saw many of the others look at him with disgust, and in some cases pure contempt.

Ser Denys spoke first, "Lord Janos, this is indeed serious. Lord Snow, is your allegation sincere? Their must be a proper investigation into this."

"We do not have the time, Ser! We must open the gates now or Mance will sound the horn!"

"So you're on first name terms with him now, are you?" Smallwood sneered.

Yarwyck scalded the First Ranger, "Grow up Thoren. I agree with Jon, we must open the gate."

Cotter Pyke and Ser Denys nodded, but Thorne scowled, "I will not let this bastard destroy us! His scheming is a dishonour to all our brothers who have died, in thousands of years of our history!" He made to draw his sword, but was interrupted by a great screeching scream.

It rang in Jon's ears, burned them. Unable to control himself, he fell to his knees on the cold ice. The sound mutated, becoming a deep, guttural howl, before fading away.

Slowly rising to his feet, Jon looked over the edge of the rampart. He saw the crack rush up the side of the Wall and heard the rumble as the ice began to shift.

"Get everybody off the Wall! It's going to collapse!"

* * *

_Mance_

The King-Beyond-the-Wall watched as the crack lanced up the Wall from the ground. Even now he could hear the rumbling of the shifting ice. He had given Jon Snow as much time as he had dared. His people were out there still, bleeding in the snow for the Watch's indecision. In the end, when Tormund's eldest son Toregg came to him, telling of how the Others had withdrawn, he had given Gerrick the order. _It must be now, before they return._

Gerrick Kingsblood had blown the horn. Mance had never heard a sound like it. His horse had reared and thrown him. When he rose to his feet, Gerrick had collapsed with the effort, but somehow the sound continued. When it faded, Mance looked at the horn. It was not the great monster of an instrument they had shown to their people, but rather a small unadorned horn, uncovered by Tormund at the Fist of the First Men amongst some crow cloaks and strange glass daggers.

These daggers had been the most peculiar discovery. He wore one on his belt now, as did a few of his best warriors, including Tormund and the Magnar of Thenn, wherever the crows had imprisoned him. They must have some special quality to them, or why would they have been hidden so well, with so important an artifact?

The collapse of the Wall drew his attention back of the present. It came down with a great roar, breaking into chunks easily bigger than ten mammoths. Many shattered upon impact with the ground, sending great clouds of snow into the air. Only once the dust settled and the gap through the Wall was obvious did the screams carry to Mance's ears. It was a shame, he had not wanted to do it, but he had no choice. His people were bleeding in the snow.

He signalled his army forward. Riding at their head, he heard Tormund join him as they approached the opening.

"Haha! Now we will kill crows, yes?"

"No Tormund, now we will talk with crows and end this."

The warrior sighed, "Very well Mance, but I think they will not talk."

"They will." _If Jon Snow still lives._

* * *

_Jon_

He opened his eyes slowly, the ache in his head almost paralysing. Jon coughed as he tried to stand and grew dizzy. He had been one of the last men on the stair as the Wall collapsed above Castle Black. The giant structure had luckily fallen outwards, leaving the castle largely undamaged, yet those who had still been atop the ramparts would not have had a chance. Jon himself had been thrown down the last fifty or so steps into the frozen ground, and he could tell from the pain that one or more of his ribs were cracked, and his left wrist was in agony from throwing his arm out to break his fall. He tried to flex it, but could not. Looking around him, it became obvious that he had been unconscious for some time.

As his brothers began to gather around him in the ruins of their ruined defences, Jon looked around for the other commanders. Cotter Pyke was limping towards him with Thoren Smallwood and Bowen Marsh in tow, while Othell Yarwyck was already on his feet and directing men to clear the debris and dig out any survivors.

"Pyke!" Jon shouted, "Where's Ser Denys?"

"Back there!" The Ironborn bastard jerked his thumb over his shoulder, "He ran with the rest of us, then fell and a chunk of ice crushed his legs. We tried to get him out, but the old bugger's heart gave out from the shock."

_Mallister's dead. My best ally. I am left with Yarwyck and Pyke. Not enough._

"First Steward, find Ser Denys' second, Thorne and Slynt. Mance will bring his men through this gap, we need to be able to defend it, should we need to."

Bowen Marsh looked at him incredulously, "Should we need to? Of course we will!"

"Damn it man, go!"

"I did not give you my votes, Snow, you are not my commander yet."

"I'll go, Jon." Theon cut across, having appeared behind his friend. As Theon ran off, Jon turned back to Marsh.

"It doesn't matter who is Lord Commander now, it will not be you. I hold the majority, and I am, after Commander Pyke, the senior military officer here, and you will do as you are instructed for the defence of the Wall."

The First Steward growled, but did not reply.

Not much later, Jon heard Thorne's approach before he saw it.

"Bastard!" The knight's fist shot out and slammed into Jon's nose. Gripping him by the neck, Ser Alliser slammed Jon into the side of a nearby building and began to bellow at him.

"This is all your fault, Lord Snow! Ser Jaremy was crushed because of you! Are you happy now? You've doomed us all! I'll have your head!"

Jon tried to prise Thorne's fingers from his throat, but could not release the iron grip with only one hand. His vision was beginning to blacken when the grip was released. Pulling himself upwards and regaining his balance, he saw Ser Alliser being restrained by Jarmen and Iron Emmett, while Theon and the other officers looked on.

Drawing himself up, Jon looked at Thorne. "You leave me no choice ser. I am taking command of the defences. You are relieved."

"You cannot do that! You are not the Watch's choice!"

"I have the majority. Your efforts in command have cost us the Wall itself, Ser Alliser." He gestured to the brother's standing around them. "Tell them Thorne! Tell them how you shut me outside the Wall after I went out to treat with Mance Rayder!."

"Yes I did, and I would do it again. You are a traitor and want to lie with the wildlings!"

"I made a deal with him! He would not attack us. He was to move into the Gift and help us defend the Wall against the wights! Now, your personal ambition has led to him blowing the Horn of Joramun, and letting them through! It was your ambition, ser, not my treachery!"

"You did not tell us he had the Horn of Joramun! You kept that to yourself, bastard!"

"You didn't let me tell you! You shut the gates on me and sent Ser Jaremy Rykker to kill me and blame it on the wildlings!"

Theon stepped forward, "Lord Commander Snow!"

The Nightfort men began to repeat his words and it became a chant. Other brothers took up the call, including Thoren Smallwood and many of Ser Alliser's men. Jon saw Ser Denys' second, Ser Leo Lowther, lead the Shadow Tower men in taking up the chant, while the Eastwatch men followed Pyke's lead. He turned back to Ser Alliser.

"Ser Alliser Thorne, as Lord Commander of the Night's Watch, I charge you with wilful incompetence and conspiracy to murder fellow brothers. Take him away."

As Jarmen and Iron Emmett dragged Thorne away, Jon turned to his men. Spotting Sam, he shouted "Bring Maester Aemon, we will need his advice."

Turning to his officers, he spoke to them, "First Builder Yarwyck, find Janos Slynt. I name Theon Greyjoy Commander of the Nightfort. First Ranger, Commanders Pyke and Greyjoy, First Steward Marsh, come with me."

He led his officers out beyond the remains of the Wall. _Does Rayder still live? If not, I doubt the others will be keen on keeping our agreement._


	93. Chapter 93: Kevan XII

_NOTE - Here's another. As usual, I've written more for the Kevan chapter. Spot my favourite character anyone? Enjoy.  
_

_Kevan  
_

They formed a battle line atop the ridge. Looking down from this vantage point, Kevan saw the small, squat castle of House Jast perched on the hill overlooking the lake, and beneath it, the camp of Lord Lefford's coalition. Their numbers were nowhere near a match for his, not now Lord Marbrand had arrived, but Kevan was wary. he had relied upon his greater numbers once already, and paid for it. Ser Addam and the Hound's men had been drifting back to the column all night, all sporting various cuts, bruises and some far more serious wounds. The Marbrand knight himself had returned with the last of his men two hours ago, with Martyn in tow.

His son had taken a shallow cut, and it would leave a scar reaching from his left shoulder to the centre of his back. Luckily, no damage had been done to his spine, so there would be no permanent disability, just discomfort. Martyn laughed it off, and tried to join the battle line, but Kevan had insisted on him sitting out the battle. He knew his son would hate that, but he would take no more risks with his children. Dorna wouldn't be able to bear it. Deep down, he knew he couldn't bear it either.

Lefford's men began to mobilise, leaving their camp behind as they formed up at the base of the ridge. Kevan called to his squire, Rollam Westerling,

"Take my horse back to the camp lad. I won't be needing it."

As the boy led his horse away, Kevan made a quick assessment of the enemy line. Lefford's men held the centre, Lydden's the right, opposite Marbrand's troops, while the left was a rag-tag conglomeration of all the small knightly houses that had joined the rebels. The banners of Houses Greenfield and Spicer flew above those men. That was good. Gaston Greenfield blamed Kevan for the death of his son Ser Preston on Dragonstone, and was more likely to command aggressively, while Rolph Spicer was cunning and malicious, and would hold back if it suited him best. The disagreement between the two would further weaken their position. He knew that it was Lewys Lydden who commanded the rebels. Lydden was experienced and brutal, that Kevan had seen for himself, first at the ford, then at the battle against Tywin. He would almost certainly have something underhand planned, the question was, what?

Using a Myrish glass that Janei had brought to him from her chambers, obviously a remnant from when Joanna Lannister held those rooms, he watched the enemy finally move into position and he saw what he was waiting for. Five horses pulled ahead of the main line and came forwards under the seven-coloured peace banner. Calling for Rollam to bring back his horse, Kevan examined the approaching party. Old Lord Lefford was in the centre, his thick grey eyebrows were set in a frown, meeting in the middle of his forehead. To his right was Lydden, the Badger of Deepden, whose hair, despite having seen only thirty name-days, was snow white. Kevan remembered reading of a strange condition in the Lydden bloodline, causing some male family members to be born with the white hair of a great-grandfather. This characteristic had not manifested itself in Lydden's son, Ser Lyn, whom Willem had slain at the Battle of the Pass, but had in his brother Loren, who rode beside him, carrying the peace banner. On Lefford's other side rode Lord Gaston Greenfield and Rolph Spicer, the false Lord of Castamere. Greenfield had blond hair and beard and bright green eyes, and Kevan had often wondered if there was Lannister blood flowing in his veins. Gaston was a tall man, with broad shoulders, a strong voice, and a stronger arm. He was just the sort of man Kevan would have wanted on his side, but it was too late for that. Spicer by contrast, was short and square, with a closely cropped grey beard and a nose that had obviously been broken several times.

Kevan lowered the glass and prepared to meet them. Damon Marbrand sat to his left, with Ser Addam carrying the banner, and Lords Brax and Jast were on his right. He had considered giving Clegane the banner, but remembered Lefford's averse reaction to the man. Roland Reyne he had also thought of, hoping to unnerve Spicer, but had in the end settled for Ser Addam. Marbrand was one of a number of knights and lords upon whom Kevan had come to rely, including Lyle Crakehall, the Braxes, The Hound and Lord Humfrey Serrett, not only for their sound (and in the case of Clegane, brutal and explicit) advice and capabilities, but also for the future. He was no fool. He was well into his fifties, and with the prospect of the war continuing for the gods knew how long, he may well not survive it. Willem would need help ruling the Westerlands, and these knights would be essential. Kevan had made the arrangements for the eventuality of his death, should it occur. Until Willem came of age, the Westerlands would be ruled by a council of five men; Lord Damon Marbrand, Lord Andros Brax, Lord Humfrey Serrett, Lord Daven Lannister and Lord Antario Jast. It would only be a regency of a year or two, but it would provide stability to a region which had suffered greatly in the wars.

The two parties met two spear lengths apart between the armies. From here, it appeared to Kevan that he had every conceivable advantage: greater numbers, the high ground, yet he was still wary.

Spicer spoke first, "Come to surrender Kevan?"

"Why would I do that?" he replied, "I have the high ground, and the greater numbers. This is your last chance my lords, surrender, and you will live."

"Really? I thought you said you were going to kill me? I hear you have further disgraced your brother's name by admitting a fake Reyne into your force. Will he sit in my castle after I'm dead?"

"Yes he will. He is of old and noble blood. You Rolph, are a savage brute, and I shall not suffer you to live under my rule."

Greenfield spoke next, "I will not surrender. You sent my son to his death on the walls of Dragonstone."

"I did no such thing. He was there to defend Tommen!"

"Then why was he not at Tommen's side? He led the second wave against the walls, at your command."

"It is to my eternal regret that he died, he was a good man."

"Pleasantries will not bring him back. I will avenge my son."

"Gaston, I know how it feels to lose a son. My Lancel was murdered by the Florents just to cause trouble. I know your grief my lord, but is it worth the suffering? The deaths? The Targaryens have returned, and winter is coming. Westeros must unite against them if we are to have any chance of seeing out the winter."

This was obviously news to Lefford, who blanched. "The Targaryens? Impossible."

"No my lord." Ser Addam spoke, "Aegon, the son of Rhaegar, has come with the Golden Company in tow. I was in Dorne, I know. Prince Doran has declared Dorne for Aegon and betrothed his daughter Arianne to him. Daenerys comes across the sea also, freshly wed to Loras Tyrell, with three dragons and an army of Unsullied. Westeros is under a greater threat than you know, my lord. We must stop this pointless infighting, and defend our King."

Kevan followed Addam's speech with a simple question, "Unless you dispute King Stannis' rule?"

Lefford shook his head, "No. Stannis is King. I will follow no Targaryen. I was there with your brother when we saw Aerys' body and saw what Jaime had done. Jaime sacrificed his reputation and honour to do what needed done. He was your brother's friend, but not at the end. We do not need another Mad King. Lord Kevan, if you swear to me that this is true, and that you will rule with your brother's wisdom, I shall bend the knee."

They all looked at him incredulously. Why would he go to so much trouble to raise a rebellion and defy his King, merely to meekly bend his knee? Then Kevan understood. Leo Lefford was an old, done man. He wanted nothing more than a peaceful life, yet he was also loyal, loyal to his lord. He had been close to Tywin for many years, and only wanted to make sure his successor was worthy. What Kevan had done to prove this, he did not know, but he looked at Lefford and pitied him. It was all an elaborate bluff. Kevan could not condone it, for that bluff had killed men and could have killed Martyn. Lefford knew, when it came down to it, that he could not win, but had wanted to be heard, to be recognised, to be known as Tywin's man.

While Kevan realised this, Lefford's companions clearly did not. Greenfield visibly deflated, Lydden turned scarlet and reached for his sword, and Spicer began to back his horse away.

"You old bastard!" The Lord of Deep Den roared, drawing his blade, "We have come to far now, we cannot give in. I will kill you here."

"We cannot win, Lewys!" Lefford protested, "Do not throw away the lives of your people!"

"You were perfectly happy to do that before! I lost two hundred fighting Clegane's attack, my men died because of you, and I will not let that be in vain!" He wheeled his horse and made to ride back to his troops, when his brother Ser Loren raised his visor, revealing dark beady eyes.

"Brother, do not do this. Let it go."

Kevan decided to intervene, "My lords, if you surrender now, I will take you into my war councils, and you will keep your lands, titles and honours. With the exception on Spicer, who will be exiled, and his lands shall pass to Ser Roland Reyne, Knight of Castamere. Spicer, you took advantage of my brother's illness and weakened mind to promote yourself and your family. That is inexcusable, yet if you surrender now, you shall live."

Spicer looked directly at Kevan, spat at the floor by his horse's hooves and replied, "Fuck you." He turned his horse and galloped away.

As Ser Addam made to pursue him, Kevan stopped him, "Let him go. I shall write to the King with a warrant for his arrest, to be issued throughout the Kingdoms."

"But he will take his men."

Lefford shook his head, "He has but twenty anyway, it will make no difference where he goes, he will be found."

As they watched the small figure ride off, Daven spoke, "My lord, what if he joins the Targaryens in exchange for restoring him?

"Then the Targaryens will gain one more incompetent lord. Now, my lords, we have bigger fish to fry. The Tyrell army is at Highgarden, and will soon move North to engage us. Are you with me?"

Lefford dismounted and knelt. Greenfield and Lydden reluctantly followed.

* * *

Back in his tent, doing his best to ignore the driving rain, Kevan finished writing the arrest warrant. Rolph Spicer, if found was to be arrested on sight, and returned to Casterly Rock for judgement. With regards to his family, Kevan had been unsure, until Lord Gawen Westerling came to him.

"My Lord Lannister, as you will know, I am wed to Rolph Spicer's sister, he is the uncle of my children, including your own squire. They are his only family."

"I am aware of this."

"My lord, I ask that instead of exiling his kin, you allow me to keep them at the Crag. They are my wife and children, I cannot believe they had anything to do with his treachery."

"Very well, my lord. I shall keep Rollam as my squire though, he is a good lad."

"Yes, my lord, he is. Thank you my lord." Westerling bowed and left. Kevan pitied him. The Westerlings were an old and noble bloodline, but their fortunes had declined, to the extent that Lord Gawen had married Sybell Spicer to access her brother Rolph's money and keep his castle from falling down. Now, with the mercantile business and wealth of House Spicer confiscated, Kevan would give it to Sybell. It was her rightful inheritance, and it would secure the loyalty and future of House Westerling for many years to come.

As for Lefford, he had requested that he be allowed to return home, he was old and tired, and wanted to see his daughter again, freshly returned from Riverrun. Kevan had agreed, on the condition that he consent to marry Alysanne to Ser Addam Marbrand. This was a purely political move to reward his most loyal knight, but was also a sound marriage for Alysanne who would become Lady of the Tooth upon her father's death, and Lady of Ashemark when Addam succeeded his father. He had also decided to ask Addam to take Tommen on as his squire. Tommen was a capable young warrior and showed his father's skill with a blade. Such promise deserved more than squiring for an old lord.

Rising from his campaign desk and looking out of the doorway of his tent, he shivered. It was getting colder. The rain would become snow before too long, and then winter would have come. _The Starks are always right in the end, winter is coming._ The campfires and torches of his army camp formed pricks of light in the dark. Forty thousand men. Tywin had marched sixty thousand to war over a year ago, and though augmented by fresh levies and new arrivals, only two thirds remained. _Not enough. _The Tyrells had twice that number, according to Marbrand. _But we have the terrain. The passes in the hills and the river crossings can be held. We will hold them. There is no other option._


	94. Chapter 94: Margaery VIII

_NOTE - Hello everyone! Sorry it's been so long since last update, but I got a bit busy and simply forgot. Hope you enjoy.  
_

_Margaery_

Once again she joined her husband on the march. Now though, it was a different army, a different husband. She had become very fond of Quentyn, he was something new for her; kind, modest, unassuming and shy. He was inexperienced, but she would teach him. She had also got to know the knights who surrounded him. Ser Gerris Drinkwater was tall, blond and arrogant, Ser Archibald Yronwood they called the Big Man, and he was strong as an ox and bald as an egg, and now Cletus Yronwood, handsome but for his lazy eye, with a penchant for tavern girls. Ser Guyard Morrigen had joined them now, joined their drinking and their gambling, but never their whoring. Her raven knight was freshly wed. It had been a hurried affair, which had seen him marry Jennelyn Fowler, but he seemed happy, and that made Margaery happy.

Despite her growing comfort and acceptance among many of the Dornish, there were still some who seemed determined to make life hell for her, most notably the close friends of Princess Arianne. Sylva Santagar would ask her why she was not pregnant yet, and hint at infertility, while Andrey and Deziel Dalt had followed her menacingly for three days before Quentyn had insisted she keep on of his knights with her at all times. Unsurprisingly, this task fell to Guyard. There were also tensions growing between the lords and their men. Quentyn's brazen announcement of his status as heir to Sunspear before the whole court was frowned upon by some, and condemned completely by others. Arianne herself, who had joined the army in order to meet her betrothed, acted as if nothing was amiss, but she had whispered once in Margaery's ear.

"I am the Princess of Dorne, you will never be. Not while I draw breath."

In fact, the tension between the various contingents of the army became so great that Arianne's men refused to march near Quentyn's men, for it would be tantamount to marching with traitors. This continued to escalate until Lord Yronwood, who commanded the force according to Prince Doran's orders, was forced to act. He called the leaders of both sides to his tent.

"This has gone on long enough. We approach the end of the Boneway, and will soon be upon Blackhaven, the seat of Lord Swann, who rules the Stormlands in his father's name. Our scouts report that he has long since marched north to Storm's End, in order to relieve the siege it is placed under by King Aegon's army. Once we leave the Boneway, these squabbles will be resolved. I don't care how. Arianne, Quentyn is your father's heir. You will be Queen of the Seven Kingdoms. That is all there is to it. Your claim to Sunspear was forfeited when you were betrothed to Aegon. That is the law!"

"What if I do not wish to forfeit my claim?"

"It is too late for that. It is done. You and your friends will stop causing me trouble, and you will stop the Lemonwood boys from following Lady Margaery."

"Why? They do not trust her around their Prince, surely that is reason enough to follow her."

Quentyn stood at this, "They have no concern for me, they just want you to reward them."

Arianne pulled an innocent expression, "And how would I do that? I am not the Princess of Dorne, as you keep reminding me dear brother."

"You will be Queen, everyone knows it. That is why they seek your favour. After all the rewards would be rich. A knighthood here, and lordship there, maybe a small castle and some land, a position in the Kingsguard, a place at court. There are many things you could offer them. But none of these are what they want from you, I don't think." Margaery had never seen Quentyn this angry.

The Princess' expression went from innocent to thunderous in mere seconds, "Quentyn, what are you implying?"

"You know what I am implying sister, but seeing as you refuse to say it, let me state more plainly. The Dalts want you to open your legs for them. As you did for Daemon Sand and the Darkstar before them."

"How dare you!" She lunged for her brother across the tent.

"Enough!" roared Lord Yronwood. "This ends now. Prince Quentyn, you are my Prince's heir, but I am in command. You will apologise to your sister. Arianne, you are causing more trouble than you are worth. I would send you home, but you are to meet the King. You and your friends will confine yourselves to the baggage train until we reach Aegon's army. You may have ten men to guard you. That is all. You will have no influence on the decisions of this army's leadership, you will have no say. Once we make camp you are confined to your tent. Go."

As Arianne stormed out, Yronwood slumped down into his chair muttering under his breath. Margaery felt Quentyn touch her hand.

"Come," he said, "I want to show you something."

He led her out of the camp and up to the side of the valley. A narrow path wound its way to the top of the ridge. It took them a good two hours to climb halfway up. From there, Margaery could see for miles. To the east was the army camp, then the continuation of the Red Mountains, to the south the Boneway winding through the mountains back towards Yronwood, and to the north, the Stormlands. The mountains continued for a long way, before giving was to the grassier land of the Northern Marches. It wasn't the most beautiful view she'd ever seen, but it was stunning. Fearsome and awe-inspiring rather than picturesque.

Quentyn held her tight as the wind picked up. In that moment, she couldn't think of anywhere else she would rather be.

* * *

They made Blackhaven two days later. The new sigil of House Swann of Blackhaven flew from the towers. Lord Yronwood, Willas and Quentyn rode forward to treat with the party who approached from the gates. Margaery watched from her mare in the camp. It was a beautiful bay creature, given to her by Prince Doran upon her departure from Sunspear. She whinnied slightly, sensing Margaery's anxiety. She turned to Jennelyn, who had become her lady-in-waiting. The other position was temporarily held by Sansa Stark, so that she had a familiar and friendly face about her in the army. Margaery was determined to keep her brother's betrothed happy and safe. It was unusual for one of Sansa's status to hold such a post, but she had seemed happy when it was offered. Margaery knew Willas was fond of her, and that she was growing fond of him. Her brother just needed to survive this war. Thinking of her brother dead on the battlefield brought other images of other bodies, those of Garlan and Loras, of her father, of Guyard, and of her husband. She shuddered at the ghastly images.

The Fowler woman smiled at her, "They know what they're doing Princess, do not worry yourself."

Margaery was still not used to being called a Princess, but she smiled back, "I am sure they do. I am just a little nervous."

"No need for that Princess. Their army is many leagues north of here, moving to reinforce Lord Swann's brother, who is castellan of Storm's End. What remains here can be only a garrison. There will be no bloodshed, the castellan must surrender."

* * *

And so they waited. They saw the Swann deputation emerge from the castle, saw the two sides converge, and not long after, separate. She spurred her mare forward to meet them.

"What news?"

It was Willas who replied, "The castle is held by Lord Swann's wife, Lady Allyria. She has with her Lord Swann's bastard sister and a maester. They have next to no men or supplies and cannot hold out. Yet they will not surrender."

"Surely they know it is hopeless?"

"They do. But Lady Allyria will not budge. She says her castellan abandoned them not long ago, and asked that we execute him if we see him, but she will not yield."

Lord Yronwood sighed, "It is a shame. She is so young, and the baby is so close."

"She's pregnant?"

"Yes."

"You can't mean to send men in and to kill her?"

"What other option do we have?"

"Take them hostage. Think how much Stannis would pay for his brother-in-law's wife, child and bastard sister!"

The discussion was interrupted by a noise like a hurricane, followed by a deafening roar. Her mare reared, and Margaery fell to the floor. As Quentyn dismounted and helped her to her feet, she looked towards the castle. There, perched upon the roof of the highest tower, was a dragon. It could only be a dragon. From this distance it was impossible to suggest it's size, but it looked fearsome enough. Margaery could hear the whispers spreading through the Dornish ranks.

Quentyn whispered to Lord Yronwood, "It must be Queen Daenerys...but she is still in Essos. What is going on?"

"Dragons travel faster than ships, my Prince. But I do not know what is happening, how could I? I have just as much information as you."

Willas joined the discussion, "Maybe she heard we were advancing and flew ahead to meet us? No doubt she is securing their surrender even now."

They continued to watch the dragon. It was too far away to see any detail other than its silhouette, but when it spread it's wings it blotted out the setting sun, it became clear that it was a deep green, rather than the black that they had been told the Queen preferred. As they continued to watch, the beast flung itself into the sky, and headed to the north-east.

Quentyn turned to Lord Yronwood and Willas. "Where did she go?"

"Was it even her?" Yronwood asked, "Prince Doran said she rode a black beast, but that was green."

"Maybe she found a rider for one of the others." Willas replied, "But why then did she fly away to the north?"

"Look," called a soldier nearby, "The gates are opening!"

The man was right, and furthermore, three riders had emerged from the castle, one bearing a peace banner.

"Well then," Lord Yronwood said, "Let's go and find out what's going on."

He, Quentyn and Willas rode forward again, and Margaery was even more unsure than before.

* * *

When Margaery, Jennelyn and Sansa rode through the main gate of Blackhaven they found a scene which was clearly loaded with tension. The skeleton garrison of the castle were kneeling guarded on the cobblestones, while the few women stood under guard further away. The three of them made for the keep, in front of which, Lord Yronwood was speaking with a black-haired woman and an aging maester.

"Where is Lady Allyria?"

"Gone."

"Where? Tell me, or I'll start killing prisoners."

"On the dragon."

"With Queen Daenerys?"

"No. With Ser Edric Storm."

"Who?"

"King Robert's bastard son," Willas replied, "Why was he here?"

The black haired woman responded quickly, "He came to help hold the castle. When he realised he could not fight off so many, he took Lady Allyria atop Rhaegal and flew back to Lord Swann's army."

"Lord Swann's army?"

"That's what he said. He said King Stannis gave him orders to join the fight in the Stormlands."

"Rhaegal is one of the Queen's dragons, why is he riding it for Stannis?"

"I do not know. All I know is he brought a dragon and took my sister-in-law away to her husband, my half-brother. I can tell you no more my lords."

As the bastard woman finished, Lord Yronwood and Willas turned away. As they passed, Margaery heard the Dornish Lord curse.

Stannis had a dragon? How had this happened? What did it mean now? Aegon had no dragons, for that he depended on the arrival of his aunt Daenerys. They had no way of knowing if she had even left Essos yet. And know the King knew they were coming, and was no doubt preparing to march south. How had Stannis reacted so quickly? He must have been told by someone. In order for the Stormlands to mobilise, for Stannis to acquire and dispatch a dragon to help, he had to have known. But how?

* * *

She made her way to the command tent and found the army leaders poring over a map. Willas was filling them in on the situation.

"Therefore, it is safe to assume that Stannis knows everything. Lord Balon Swann has gathered just short of five thousand men, and is pulling back to the north towards Fawnton, no doubt waiting for Stannis and his reinforcements."

Ryon Allyrion interrupted, "How many?"

"We do not know. The Starks are tied up in the North and the Riverlands are battered. The Crownlands and Vale will raise troops though, and the Arryns have not been punished as badly as others."

Ryon asked again, "What of the West and Kevan Lannister?"

Quentyn took over, "He is fighting rebels in his own lands. Lord Tyrell's forces will march north and crush him before moving must force a march to Storm's End if we are to take it before Stannis arrives."

"What about the dragon?"

"I do not know Ser, I do not know."


	95. Chapter 95: Jon VIII

_NOTE - Again, sorry it's been a while, but you know, Freshers. A really fun one to write for me, see if you can notice the cameo of a character so far unseen. Then again, it's not subtle. As I say, I enjoyed writing this one, I hope you enjoy reading it. As usual, feel free to PM me any constructive criticism, POV requests or ideas. Follow, favourite, review! Enjoy.  
_

_Jon_

He and his officers stood in the cold, waiting. The clouds of snow thrown up by the collapsing Wall had begun to clear, at least to the extent that four mounted figures could be made out moving towards them. As these riders drew closer on their shaggy mountain garrons, more figures began to appear on foot behind them; hundreds of them, thousands. They shuffled forward with a look of extreme exhaustion, bundled in furs and carrying their weapons over their shoulders or dragging them behind them through the snow. Jon felt the others shift beside him, but kept staring straight ahead. Though he may have been named Lord Commander by the acclamation of his brothers, but there would have to be another vote and count. Not through any vanity of his own, to glory in his appointment, but also to give him the mandate he needed to push through the co-operation with the wildlings. He would have called it what it was, an alliance, but he knew that his brothers would find that a step too far.

The garrons stopped not far in front of the Night's Watch officers, and the leaders of the Free Folk dismounted and came closer. Jon recognised the King Beyond-the-Wall, the one whom he had sent for the Horn, Gerrick Kingsblood, and Tormund Giantsbane. The fourth figure though, was a woman. She was short, with bright red fiery hair, carrying a bow across her back she looked triumphant rather than tired. Her eyes blazed with what Jon could only describe as fury, but despite himself, he thought her beautiful.

Mance Rayder began to speak, "Your Wall is breached, crow."

Jon steeled himself, "Only because you did not give me time to implement my side of the agreement, wildling." He knew he had to act at least a little hostile, or he would lose the support of those around him.

Tormund growled, "Our people were dying. Mance left it far longer than he should."

Rayder took over, "The wights have pulled back for now. We must resolve this now. Will you let us through?"

Jon straightened his back, "You will assist with the defence of the Wall, and the repair and defence of the breach you have made. You will work in co-operation with the Watch. Your people will obey the orders of my officers, should they be given to them."

"You want us to take commands from crows?" The woman asked, "I suppose you'll want us to cook and wash for you too?"

"Those of you who cannot fight, yes. There will be no idle hands. We cannot allow it." Jon could see this becoming a regular sticking point, but was silently grateful that his companions had thus far remained silent.

"We will not kneel." Mance replied, with a tone that brooked no argument.

"I do not ask you to kneel, I ask that you obey."

Gerrick spoke next, "What about our chiefs and leaders? Must they give up their clans to you crows?"

"No. Each section of the defence will be assigned a commander from the Watch or the Free Folk, and will be defended by a mixed force of brothers and wildlings."

"We have to fight with crows?" The red-haired woman asked incredulously.

"Of course we do woman," Mance silenced her, "Or we will never hold. I accept your terms Jon Snow, on the condition that there will be no mistreatment of my people by yours. That would result in serious consequences." The implied threat was clear.

"Very well, gather your people. In an hour's time you may pass."

* * *

As he gave the commands to prepare for the passage of the wildlings, Thoren Smallwood came to him.

"Lord Commander, as First Ranger, I am responsible for the military force of the Watch and training. These wildlings have no discipline _or_ training, their weapons are sub-standard and I have not the time to remedy this."

"Give them what steel we can, and do what you can. I will speak to Mance Rayder on this issue."

"Our steel? What if they betray us?"

"Why would they do that? They cannot hold the Wall without us. If the Watch is destroyed, the my brother Lord Stark will be forced to raise men and come to oust them. As long as we remain, they are safe from that. Us giving them the steel will show that we are willing to make sacrifices to make this work, and they will feel less like hostages here, as it will allow them to better defend themselves. Dismissed, First Ranger."

As Smallwood strode off, stiff-backed, Jon considered his officers. Maester Aemon had not left the library in days, neither had Sam, as they searched for a way to defeat the Others. Cotter Pyke had requested to return to Eastwatch and was already making his preparations to depart. Ser Leo Lowther had taken command of the Shadow Tower men, and was also planning his departure. Once these men had left, Jon would be left with a little over three hundred brothers and over thirty thousand wildlings. The odds would never be in his favour should Mance decide to turn on him.

A steward came to him next, "My Lord, Maester Aemon sent me to find you, he thinks he's found something."

* * *

The blind maester sat by the light of a small lantern, with Clydas reading an extract to him. The book before them was huge, at least two feet across, and it's bindings were inscribed with the runes of the First Men. Sam came to him.

"Jon, we think we've found it."

"Found what?"

"A way to kill the Others."

"Show me."

Clydas' dry voice was cut off as Aemon interrupted him, "That last bit, one more time my friend?"

Clydas began to read again, haltingly as he translated the runes from the faded pages, "_Ice, and a bitter cold, a mist that rose from the snow, and demons of ice that came with it. We would have frozen at our posts, had it not been for he, he with the torch of dragonsteel. Azor Ahai, Lightbringer in his hand, lit in the blood of Nissa Nissa. He slew many, and gave us the frozen fire, from which we fashioned arrowheads and slew many more. We lost many in that final fight, the War for the Dawn that would end the Long Night."_

Aemon turned to Jon, his blind eyes shining, "Did you hear Lord Commander?"

"I did." It still unnerved Jon that the maester always knew when he was there, when he hadn't said anything.

"A torch of dragonsteel and the frozen fire, these are the things that can slay the Others, or so claims Kellen of the First Men, scholar of the Night's Watch, in this book." Aemon placed his hand on it's faded pages and Jon read the title in the top corner of the page. _The War for the Dawn, a History, and a Warning._

"I do not understand. Dragonsteel? The frozen fire? Who can freeze fire? What is the warning?"

"We do not yet know the warning. Translating this passage has taken us much of the day. Clydas does not read the runes of the First Men, and I cannot see, so he must describe each rune to me, then sketch it out with my hand, before I can give a meaning. It is a slow process. Dragonsteel, is simple enough, the steel of the dragon people. The people of Valyria."

"Valyrian steel! That's no use, there are fewer than a dozen in Westeros! I have one, my brother Robb has another."

Sam butted in, "My father, Lord Tarly, wields one. It is named Heartsbane."

Aemon spoke again, "When I last was in the south, there were a few more. The Corbrays hold Lady Forlorn, the Harlaws Nightfall and the Drumms had Red Rain, which they stole from House Reyne in a raid. Celtigar may still have his grandfather's axe hidden in his vaults."

"Any others? None of those houses are like to lend them to us."

"No house will lend you a Valyrian blade, we must convince them to aid us. What others were there? Blackfyre and Brightroar have been lost for centuries, Vigilance and Lamentation have not been seen since the Dance, and then there is Dark Sister." The old man sighed.

Jon knew the names of the other swords, the blades of Houses Targaryen, Lannister, Hightower and Royce respectively. He amazed himself that these names came to him so readily. Maester Luwin's teaching really had paid off, especially given Jon's love of martial history and swordlore. Yet Dark Sister did not come to him. He knew the name, but could not place it. He was saved the embarrassment by Sam asking instead.

"Who held Dark Sister?"

Aemon's face had grown dark, and tears welled in his eyes, "Dark Sister was the sword of Visenya Targaryen, passed down through our family, before it was held by Brynden Rivers."

"Bloodraven." Sam whispered.

"Yes, he had that name. He accompanied me when I came to the Wall. He became my Lord Commander. He went north, Dark Sister at his side, and never returned. He was my blood, and in these times, that blood is a rare thing." He stared pointedly at Jon with his unseeing eyes.

Shifting uneasily, Jon asked again, "But what is the frozen fire?"

Sam smiled like he was about to burst, "Oh, I remember reading something about that." He bustled off into the depths of the library. They could hear him rummaging around and mumbling to himself, the sound of a candlestick being knocked over, and then a triumphant cry of, "Here it is!"

Sam returned with a battered parchment, from which he began to read, "_Maester Vaenerion of Dragonstone writes of a substance under the castle and the Dragonmont. He names it obsidian, as the Valyrian's did. Yet others call it dragonglass, or the frozen fire, for it burns the unnatural like ... _there's a bit missing there, it's a bit patchy from here ... a sack by ship to Eastwatch... some to Winterfell...beyond the Wall...Fist of the Firm, no, First. That must mean the Fist of the First Men."

"How can we get it, what does it look like?"

"The glass candles of the Citadel were crafted from obsidian," Aemon said, "It is dark, shiny and sharp, like glass, but not."

Jon heard this description, then it struck him. The little blades that Mance and his best warriors wore on their hips.

"Sam! Read the last bit again."

"Errr ok, a sack by ship to Eastwatch...some to Winterfell...beyond the Wall...Fist of the First."

Jon turned back to Aemon, "Maester, what if Vaenerion was instructed to send a sack of obsidian to Eastwatch, and when it came here, some was sent to Winterfell, and some to the Fist of the First Men?"

"Why would any Lord Commander hide anything at the Fist?"

"It doesn't matter. What if the last people at the Fist found the obsidian? What if they brought it with them to the Wall?"

Realisation dawned on the faces of Aemon and Clydas, but Sam remained in the dark, until Clydas breathed one word, "Wildlings."

As Sam's chubby face split into a bright smile, Jon turned and ran up the stairs.


	96. Chapter 96: Lucas II

_NOTE - A relatively short update on the Skagosi this time. Enjoy.  
_

_Lucas_

The snow was deep now, and falling faster, but they had to wait. Most of the Skagosi were now ashore, but some dozen boats remained at sea, floundering in the growing swell. Lucas watched in horror as one of the small craft further out overturned, throwing it's passengers into the icy water. When the first one had gone over, he had run forward, wanting to help. Joth had held him back,

"No, Ser Blackwood. Nothing be done. Freeze before reach them."

As the screams of the drowning floated back to him over the water, he turned to the lords. Crowl and Stane watched him carefully, while the new Magnar picked his nails with a horn dagger.

"We must move, we cannot stay here." Stane growled. "It will only get colder."

"Yes, we make for Karhold. The Karstarks betrayed Lord Stark, so we will besiege it. I do not know who rules there, but march we will."

* * *

When the last boat had landed, they moved off. Their progress was slow, accompanied as they were by all the remaining women and children of Skagos. Lucas rode the ram he had been gifted by Crowl, having finally managed to control it somewhat. Looking back over the column, he thought it more of an exodus than an army. Families strode through the snow, struggling on the icy ground. They had brought many mountain sheep over from the island to act as pack animals, but even so, the days passed slowly. It was the hardest march of Lucas' life. Stane and his bear often had to be used to clear snowdrifts form the narrow track along the top of the cliffs. One more than one occasion, part of the path collapsed and gave way, sending many to their deaths. Morale grew thin and he heard many grumble of how this wolf-knight was leading them to their deaths. The only thing keeping them going, was the desire to get as much distance between them and the dead as possible.

The sea eagle returned at dawn on the ninth day. It's master had sent it ahead to find Karhold and to investigate the lie of the land. The news was mixed. Karhold stood strong, but with only women and children inside, it would surrender rather than fight. The worst news came from further north. The eagle had flown to the Wall, and seen it crumbled, and defended by Watch brothers and wildlings, but they would not hold the dead long, for they amassed not far to the north of the breach. When pushed, the Skagosi man had sent his eagle north again, to find out more.

Lucas gathered Joth and the clan leaders that night, when they made camp, and told them the news.

"We must go south," Magnar said.

"North," Crowl argued, "We came to fight the bastards."

"What of our people? They cannot fight the blue-eyes."

Lucas headed them off, "When we take Karhold, I shall send a raven to Winterfell. Then, all those who can fight will go north to the Wall. We know how serious the threat is, we know how to kill them with fire. I daresay Skarma will be welcome there," He looked to Stane, who grunted. "Your people will go south, to Winterfell. I will write to Lord Stark telling him they are coming. Hopefully, he will have defeated Bolton and will gather what men he can and march north too."

* * *

Karhold was not as he had expected. It looked much more formidable than he had been led to believe. It sat atop two pillars of rock, accessible only by a stair carved into the western pillar. It was not high, and the stair was wide, so that was not too much of a worry. The true threat was that this stair led only to a mighty gatehouse. Beyond that was a stone bridge leading to the main castle, a bridge which crossed the deep chasm between the western and eastern pillars. Rising out of the dark forest, the pillars stood at the apex of the cliffs, battered by storm and sea. Now Lucas understood why the Karstarks were so often prickly, and why Harrion Karstark was best described as craggy.

Luckily for them, they did not have to assault this fastness, as that would have been disastrous. The Skagosi had never seen so formidable a castle, never mind attacked one, and they were bedraggled and hungry from the journey. The castellan, an ancient man who named himself Colt, said that 'Lord Arnolf' had not been heard from for many weeks. When Lucas told the man that Lord Stark knew of Arnolf's plan and would have defeated him by now, all pomposity vanished from him. He did not argue when Lucas took command of Karhold, nor when the gate was opened to the Skagosi. The remaining people of the castle stared wide-eyed at the newcomers, but they were too busy trying to survive the cold to cause trouble.

Colt, who it turned out was also the castle's makeshift maester after the other had died of a fever before the war, led Lucas up to the ravenry.

"I ain't heard owt from his lordship since he left. Took his lads with him too, Cregan and Arthor, and Arthor's lads, and little Alys, Lord Rickard's girl. Quiet, but good she is."

"Arnolf is not Lord Karstark, Harrion is."

"Aye, aye." The wizened man croaked, "It don't matter to me, just want to get us through this blasted winter."

"Where is your maester?" Lucas asked as he scribbled his note to Robb.

"Dead, dead and gone." Colt smiled through his half-dozen yellowed teeth, "Before Lord Rickard marched. He sent south for a new 'un, but they don't often fancy coming to the end of the world. They ain't got one at Last Hearth neither, and only the old one at Castle Black, and the drunk at Eastwatch. I been filling in, nearly three years now."

"Send this to Winterfell, your fastest bird." Lucas handed the old man the scroll.

"Only got the one, the other never came back."

"It will do."

As he descended from the ravenry, Lucas thought back over the contents of the letter.

_Karhold is yours. No resistance. Skagos has risen for you. They have fled from the dead to the mainland. The dead are rising and attacking the living. The legends of the Others are true. I know, I have fought them. The Wall is breached, the wildlings and Night's Watch cannot hold alone. I lead the Skagosi warriors north and send their women and children south to Winterfell. Please come, please bring men._

Robb would know the seriousness of the situation. He would. He had to.

* * *

They marched north the next morning. Those who could not fight went south, accompanied by Magnar and some of his older warriors to defend them and pass on the message to Lord Stark, in case the raven did not get through.

Beyond Karhold, the forest began to thin, and they made much faster progress without the women and children to delay them. Some two hundred rams remained to them, ridden by Lord Crowl's best warriors. On top of that, there were still seventeen of Joth's Ibbenese crewmen, fifteen Blackwood men and ten Starks, and some six hundred other Skagosi, and a few Karhold men who wanted to fight. Kyleg, who controlled the sea eagle, had come with them, though his bird had not yet returned. It was the strangest collection of people Lucas had ever seen, their rag-tag column interspersed with mountain rams, boars, lynxes and more than one shadowcat, though luckily only the one snow bear.

The snow was now very deep, approaching six feet in some places, but they marched on. Each man had reached a level of determination that Lucas, though he felt it himself, struggled to believe. A steely resolve to fight and die. Yes, there was fear, but it was tempered by sheer stubbornness and refusal to turn and run. He had always thought the Skagosi wild and barbarous, and to some extent that was true, but a great admiration for them had grown in him. They were not savage, just different.

He wondered if the wildlings at the Wall would be the same.


	97. Chapter 97: Barristan

_NOTE - This was the hardest chapter to write for me. Enjoy.  
_

_Barristan_

Aegon had left without them. They had marched to the coast with all haste, yet without exception all their sources said Aegon had gone. The fool boy. What did he think he would achieve, leaving without them? He had only the Golden Company, and no dragons. Since this had come to light, the Queen had become a nightmare. She had ranted for over an hour, of how the people would only see him now, if she arrived, she would have nothing to offer them. There had been no word of Rhaegal either. Some said they had seen him over Pentos, but they were just rumours.

Barristan had the Unsullied arrayed in formation, as he had been bid. The Queen was to address them, she had insisted. Barristan worried for her. She was hardly alone now, always with the red priest or Daario. She barely listened to anyone but them. Barristan himself had noticed it first, but Loras had too, and even Jorah had whispered to him that they might as well not be there, for all the good it did them. This worried Barristan. She could not come to Westeros preaching a foreign religion, with a sellsword lover at her side. It would destroy her claim before it began. He wished Andrew had not left, not that he blamed him. The loss of two knights and a dragon was devastating, especially given that it was the only one of the beasts they had had any control over. Drogon was still missing, and Viserion lazily followed the Unsullied column, drifting far and wide aimlessly.

He was a knight, and an honest man, yet the closer to Westeros they came, the more certain he was that Andrew had been right. Daario had to go, the red priest too. Their influence on her was clear. They had been waiting by the sea for over a week now, with no sign of moving. Barristan, Jorah and Loras has each tried to convince her to move to Pentos, to claim ships in exchange for leaving the city be, but she would not march. Every time the subject was brought up by one or other of the Westerosi knights, Moqorro would speak over them.

"The Lord of Light will give his chosen a fleet."

"When?" The Queen had asked.

"When she gives herself fully to him."

It was that that worried Barristan the most, her potential acceptance of this new god, this god of fire and death. He hoped that today she would announce her rejection of Moqorro's beastly deity and her intention to move for Pentos, but deep down he knew it would not be so.

The silence was deafening. Ten thousand Unsullied stood in silence, while Barristan looked down on them from a makeshift wooden platform. Grey Worm stood at the front of his men, upright and unmoving. Jorah and Loras stood to his sides, both tense. The silence between the knights was different to the silence of the Unsullied, tense and anxious.

Soon, the Queen came before them, sweeping forward in a dress of white silk, behind her were her lover and Moqorro, his black skin and blazing robe contrasting strongly with the Queen's alabaster clothing. She stood before the Unsullied and began to speak.

"Unsullied! Free Companies! Stormcrows! I am Daenerys Stormborn, the Breaker of Chains, the Mother of Dragons. I left Westeros amid salt and smoke, I shall return amid fire. The fire of my dragons and the fire of light!"

Barristan could scarce believe his ears, she had done it. She had chosen to accept the red god.

Moqorro stepped forward now, arms raised high, and his voice projected across the ranks of men.

"Our Queen is the chosen of the Lord of Light, Azor Ahai reborn. It is said that Azor Ahai will draw a sword from the fire. Daenerys Targaryen drew a weapon from the flames of her husband's pyre, the greatest weapon in this world. Dragons! Drogon and Viserion will be her Lightbringer, and with them she will vanquish the Others and save Westeros. She is the Lord's chosen saviour! Yet there can be no victory without sacrifice, no gain without loss. To cross the sea to Westeros, where the Iron Throne and the true war await us, a sacrifice must be made!"

What did he mean? Surely he didn't mean, a blood sacrifice? The Queen would not be so cruel, so thoughtless. Barristan stole a glance at her, and saw the fire in her eyes. She would. She was going to. Moqorro continued to preach,

"A loyal one must take this place, accept this great honour. Great will be his glory, great will be his sacrifice. Yet it cannot just be anyone. This great man, who will sacrifice himself for us all, must be from the land we wish to reach."

Barristan's head began to swim. It would be one of them then. It would not be Loras, he brought her the Tyrells, nor would it be Jorah, he was her oldest ally. Before he could draw his sword, Daario and Grey Worm had pinned his arms to his sides.

Loras drew his sword and Mormont roared, "Leave him!"

Barristan was old, and his captors were young and strong, he did his best to fight them, but without his sword, he was just another old man, another white-beard. Ser Grandfather.

He would not plead. He was a knight, he would die a knight. Thrown to his knees before the Queen, he looked up at her. She was beautiful, but cold. All warmth had gone from her, her eyes blazing with a cold flame.

"I am sorry, Ser Barristan, I had hoped to use Ser Andrew for this, but he has deserted me. It is good of you to sacrifice yourself for me, true to your vows."

Finally he managed to spit out, "Vows I should never have taken. My Queen, please, hear me. This will do you no good. Please, Your Grace, do not do this. Not for my sake, for you."

She waved her hand, and he was raised to his feet. He did not struggle as they frogmarched him to the post, nor did he struggle as they tied him to it, and piled wood around his feet.

"Any last words, Ser Grandfather?" Daario grinned, malice in his eyes.

"I am a knight, I shall die a knight."

Moqorro began to speak again, his words no longer in the Common Tongue, but in Valyrian. Barristan understood but few of the words, but knew it was an incantation. Then he came towards him, and drew his sword from his scabbard.

"A beautiful blade, my friend. So good of you to give it." The red priest plunged the blade into the post, just above Barristan's head, before turning to the Queen.

"Your Grace, it is done. The flames come."

He did not understand, why was Moqorro not burning him? Would he stay here forever? Then came the roar.

The others on the platform gasped and looked to the sky, but Barristan could not, bound tightly to the post.

"Drogon!" He heard the Queen cry.

"Do it, your Grace, only then is it complete. Then you must draw the blade from the fire, the blade tempered in the sacrifice of a loyal servant."

Barristan could not see the dragon, but from the sound of the wingbeats, knew he was above him.

"Your Grace! Please! Your father -" he began to plead.

"_Dracarys._"

The flames seared at first, pain beyond measure. He screamed, screamed as he had never done before. He felt his skin blistering, his hair and beard blazing, his white armour cooking him alive. The heat was unbearable. Then came a moment of pure lucidity. It was all gone, the heat, the pain. Somewhere in the distance he heard a deep voice chanting in a language he did not know. Images flashed before his dying eyes. A young man with silver hair and purple eyes, going to fight his father's war. An old man with uncut hair, ranting and raving as the northerners burned. Then, he saw the sea, the coast beside them, and ships. Ships bearing a golden kraken and a bunch of grapes. Yet all these faded as the pain returned. It was worse than before, he tried to scream but could make no sound.

A fallen star, a woman with haunting purple eyes. He saw her beauty, felt her long dark hair, heard her voice.


	98. Chapter 98: Victarion V

_NOTE - Sorry it's taken so long everybody. I would make my excuses, but I suspect you just want to read the chapter. As per usual, PM me with any ideas/requests/questions you have. Enjoy!  
_

_Victarion_

He and the Wine-lord of the Arbor had taken their ships to Essos to find the Dragon Queen. It had been so easy to give Stannis' fleet the slip, whoever was commanding them ought be ashamed. When Redwyne had come to him under a peace banner, he had been tempted to kill the man, yet he had not. That was good, the massed forces of both their fleets were strong enough to easily overwhelm Stannis when the time came.

Other than this though, Victarion did not like the wine-lord. Redwyne was arrogant, far more so than a scrawny cretin like him had any right to be. He had paid the gold price all his life. The man was bitter too, bitter at the thrashing Victarion had given his ships off Fair Isle. He was lucky that Victarion had not taken his head and his ships, but had managed to restrain himself. His reasoning being that his Dragon Queen would need the large hulls of Redwyne's ships to get her army across the Narrow Sea.

His mind returned to the night before his victory at the Kingsmoot. When he had gone out into the sea with his brother Damphair. Submerged to their shoulders, he had been drowned again, and risen again. Then Aeron had raised his hand from the water and guided it to Victarion's. Placing his brother's hand on his head, Aeron had pushed downwards.

"Do not bring me up brother, not until I have seen."

The Damphair had been under for far longer than either of them had expected. When he spluttered to the surface, exhausted, Victarion had carried him ashore, and Aeron had spoken.

"The Storm will come, the rush of wind and the spear of flame from the sky."

Those had been the last words Aeron had spoken that night, and Victarion had carried him to his shelter on the stony beach of Old Wyk. The next day, the Drowned Prophet had been murdered. _No man is as accursed as the kinslayer._

A shout from the _Iron Victory_'s crow's nest called the Iron Captain from his cabin. He left his two mute salt-wives below, exhausted from his desires. When he emerged, Red Ralf Stonehouse called to him from the helm.

"Land ahead Lord Captain! Redwyne's pulling his ships into the cove."

"Keep the fleet out at sea. Seal off the cove." By controlling access to the sea, he would be in the dominant position for their discussions. "Barber! Urron! With me."

The three Ironborn clambered into the narrow landing craft, two thralls took up the oars and began to row the boat towards land. As they did so, Urron turned to the Captain. He was an aging Drowned man, who had chosen to accompany the Iron Fleet east. His voice was harsh as the rocks of Old Wyk he called home.

"These dragons are born of fire. They call her the Stormborn. She is the child of the Storm God. Bind her to you, and give her god's power to ours." He had been preaching the same doom-laden story since they had sailed. Victarion knew he was right.

"I will bind her to me, and as my wife she will bring me rule of the skies and sea. The Drowned God has given me this mission old man, and I will end the age long war between our god and his great enemy. Dragons are masters of the air and sky. By binding their mother to me in marriage, I will make that power mine."

"My King," Nute the Barber spoke up and raised an arm, "There, on the shore."

Victarion turned in the direction of the Barber's pointing finger. There, on a rise above the beach coast, was the camp. A large wooden platform, and beyond it, row upon row of tents. The Iron Captain scanned the shoreline, but could not find what he sought. Yet, as he watched, a roar echoed off the cliff walls, and a great black beast appeared on the horizon.

"Stop rowing." Victarion commanded. The thralls obeyed, pure fear in their eyes. Looking across, the King of the Ironborn saw Redwyne order his oarsmen to halt too. The coward's strength had obviously left him, as he and his sons looked on from their small craft. In silence, the men in the boats watched as the dragon flew low over the camp, seemed to hover over the platform, and a burst of flame spewed from it's jaws. Victarion could hear the screams drifting over the water towards them.

"Seven save us," One of Redwyne's sons gasped.

Urron and the Barber watched, stony-faced, but pale. What witchcraft was this? What were those screams? He had to know.

"Take us in." He instructed the thralls. As the boat lurched forwards, Redwyne called out, "What are you doing?"

"Going to see this Dragon Queen. I did not cross the sea to turn back without her."

"You're mad! Did you not see that beast?"

"I did. But that's what we came for isn't it?" He turned to bellow at the thralls, who had not moved, "Take us in, I said!"

* * *

The little boat was grounded on the stony shore, and Victarion flung himself over the side into the surf. He felt the cold water rush through the gaps in his plate as he waded onto the beach. The sensation of the spreading chill filled him with confidence. _I am the chosen King of the Ironborn, my god watches over me. I shall die at sea, it is our way. Today is not my day._

With the Barber and Urron in his wake, and the two thralls behind, the Iron Captain stormed up the beach, aiming for the camp. As they approached, a shout hailed them. Turning back, he saw Redwyne and his sons striding forward from their craft.

"Hurry up Wine-lord!" He mocked as Redwyne began to struggle with the incline. The man was soft and weak, and would be of no interest to Victarion but for his ships. There had been criticism of his choice to ally with the greenlanders, but he had quelled that soon enough. There would be no questioning of his authority, not now he had his god's mission to fulfill.

Giving up on waiting for Redwyne, Victarion turned back to the camp. He saw the banner appear over the rise first, then the horses. Six of them. Drawing his axe from it's cradle on his back and lowering the visor of his kraken helm, he stepped forward and raised his voice.

"I am Victarion, of the House Greyjoy, Iron Captain and King of the Iron Islands and the Ironborn. We come to see the Dragon Queen."

The leading rider smiled, he was a handsome fucker, with a blue beard and golden mustachios. "We serve a Queen, _King_." He spat the final word, and Victarion felt his hackles rise.

"Watch your mouth pretty boy, I've killed bigger than you."

The Tyroshi's grin broadened, and his hand fell to the stiletto on his hip, "And I have killed bigger than you, squid man."

Redwyne arrived, panting, and interrupted, "Now now my lords, may we see the Queen?"

The golden beard twitched, and the man's teeth disappeared beneath the twirling blue hair on his top lip. "Very well, come."

The small party was surrounded by the riders, obviously sellswords the lot of them. Not a thing they wore was Targaryen. The question remained, had they the gold price, or the iron for these pretty baubles?

Yet not all of those at the camp were sellswords, there were many eunuch spearmen too. They stood still as stone at the junctions of the paths through the camp. The golden-bearded man stopped to speak to a eunuch officer.

"They have been here a long time." Redwyne's eldest whispered, "See how the tracks are worn into the ground."

"Of course they have," Victarion scoffed, "They have reached the sea and have no ships, what else could they do but wait?"

"But they didn't know we were coming."

"Didn't we?" The sellsword captain grinned again as he spurred his horse past them, "There are many things we know, boy."

* * *

When they were finally brought before the Queen, Victarion was angry. Over an hour they had waited. He had seethed and raged. He was a King! Who were they to keep him waiting? The wait had been interrupted only by the sound of rushing flames, and then crunching bone. Wanting to see the dragon, he had rushed to the exit of the tent they had been put in. Yet as soon as he appeared through the tent flap, the eunuchs outside had lowered their spears and he had been made to withdraw. Apparently they would not even let him see the beast.

Despite all this, she did not disappoint. He had been promised the most beautiful woman in the world, and there she was before him, seated on a velvet couch. Behind her stood the smiling sellsword captain and a huge man with ebony skin, bigger even than Victarion. Enveloped in scarlet robes, a colossal sword across his back, the red priest wore an emotionless expression, yet the fire blazed in his eyes. Also present were two knights, one young and handsome, the other middle-aged and rough. Beside them, another eunuch, this one with a sword rather than a spear.

Tearing his eyes away from her, he removed his helmet.

"Dragon Queen, I am Victarion Greyjoy, Iron Captain and King of the Ironborn, King of Salt and Rock."

"Lord Greyjoy, what brings you to me?"

"I am a King, do not forget that."

Lord Redwyne stepped forward, smiling sheepishly, "Maybe it might be best if I handled this, Captain?" He turned to the Queen, "I am Lord Paxter Redwyne of the Arbor. I come on the orders of my liege lord, Mace Tyrell of Highgarden. I have brought eighty ships to carry you across the Narrow Sea, that you may join forces with your nephew Aegon."

"That is excellent news my lord." She smiled and turned to the young knight, "See Loras? Your father has come through for me."

"He has, my Queen." The man replied.

Her attention turned back to Victarion, "And you, Lo-_King _Victarion? Why have you come?"

"My people value the Old Ways of our kin, to reave and raid as we wish. When my brother Balon seized our freedom from the greenlanders, we returned to those Old Ways. I am King now, declared so by the Kingsmoot. We would have alliance with you, Dragon Queen."

"There must be conditions?" She casually gestured to a handmaiden, who poured a cup of wine and passed it to her.

"There are. We will rule ourselves, with our own Kings, you will support us when others attack us. In exchange, we will help you win this war, put you on the Iron Throne, and will attack your enemies. You will recognise as ours all the land we have claimed in the war, including Deepwood Motte, Flint's Finger, Bear Island and the Shield Islands."

The rough, hairy knight started forwards, reaching for his sword, "You took Bear Island? What of the Mormonts? Old Maege and the girls, do they live? Answer me!"

Victarion laughed, "You must be Jorah Mormont. Draw your steel knight, and try me." He reached for his axe, and placed his left hand on the pommel of the sword he had taken from the old man in Lannisport.

"Enough!" The Queen's voiced was soft, but forceful. "Ser Jorah, put up your steel, and stand back. King Victarion, I am sorry for the interruption, but would you answer his question?"

"Aye we attacked Bear Island. My niece Asha led the attack, but was repulsed. She wrote of women riding bears and skinchangers. I sent her orders to try again, with more ships. By now your home is in flames, Mormont."

Redwyne spoke again, "Your Grace? This is getting us nowhere."

"I quite agree, Lord Redwyne. King Victarion, I accept your terms, on two conditions."

"Name them."

"First, you will obey my commands while we fight this war. You will be allied to me, not to my nephew. Second, you will return Bear Island to the Mormonts."

"My people have bled for that land. They will not be happy to leave it."

"Land that is not yours!" Mormont protested.

"Land that is ours by conquest!" The Barber replied.

"Enough, I say!" The Queen shouted now, and a deep growl resounded from outside the tent. It was as if the beast could sense it's mistress' anger.

_It is time. _"Very well, I will accept, but I want something else."

"What is it? A castle? Land? Gold?"

"You."

"Excuse me?"

"You will marry me."

The Tyroshi laughed out loud, the Red Priest smiled. The Queen looked repulsed.

"I am wed, King Victarion. To Ser Loras Tyrell." She indicated the young knight she had addressed earlier.

"You will not be the first I made a widow." He growled.

This time, they did draw their swords. The eunuch guards lowered their spears. In response, Victarion drew his axe and sword, while Urron hefted his cudgel and Nute produced two dirks from his belt.

It looked as if they would die, but Victarion was no fool.

"My ships control the bay. One hundred and eighty three they are. If I do not return to them by sundown, they will attack, sink Redwyne's ships, and leave you here to rot."

"Who will lead them if you die?" The Tyroshi asked, still wearing the same smile.

"My niece, or my brother, some other captain. The Kingsmoot will decide."

"It matters not," said the Queen, though she looked worried, "King Victarion, I cannot marry you, and you will not kill my husband. But, as an act of faith in your intentions, I promise to find you a suitable wife, one to suit your position as a King, when we have won and I sit the Iron Throne."

Redwyne picked up on this, "You, my Queen? Not your nephew?"

"No, not Aegon. I will sit the Iron Throne. You both owe your allegiance, and your ships and men, to me now. Not to House Targaryen. To me, personally."

Redwyne looked anxious, but Victarion smiled. She was bitter, bitter at this young one who had come to steal her right. That was good, he could use that. And if Young Aegon offered him better terms, then the situation would change. Yes, this anger and bitterness was good. As long as the dragons were divided, the kraken would continue to grow unnoticed.


	99. Chapter 99: Tyrion V

_NOTE - I am sorry it has been so very long. So here is another.  
_

_Tyrion_

"Now this is my kind of war," he told Varys.

"What kind of war is that my lord?"

"One without the possibility of having my head parted from my shoulders. The abundancy of wine is just a pleasant dividend." Tyrion Lannister smiled as he took another gulp.

They had been camped outside Storm's End for a while now, the bulk of Aegon's army. Their landing had been staggered. The Volantene fleet sent by Nyessos the Elephant had been separated by a mighty squall and the crews had been so eager to be rid of their passengers they had dumped them on the nearest piece of land. This had turned out to be rather fortuitous. As a result of the squall, and being landed all along the Stormland coast, they had already brought Griffon's Roost, Evenfall Hall and Rain House to heel. Poddingfield had capitulated rather then fight. Then they had reached Storm's End. Ser Donnel Swann may have been the less capable of Lord Gulian's sons, but he had the balls for a fight. The first few skirmishes had been repulsed, and the Golden Company had settled down for the siege. Yet, the commanders were uneasy.

All agreed that Storm's End must fall, and fast. Every second delaying gave Stannis another man in his army. He would be gathering a force as they spoke. An attack on the Stormlands could not be ignored. Just as worrying were the reports of Balon Swann's army, or the lack of them. He should have moved to reinforce his brother, where was he? He must have gathered some men by now. They knew that Yronwood would be leading the Dornish through the Boneway to Blackhaven, maybe Swann was waiting to meet them there? Connington in particular was uneasy, he had made that perfectly clear.

A man in the colours of Griffin's Roost entered the tent, "Lord Varys, Lord Lannister. The King requests you attend him, immediately."

"Then we are on our way," Varys simpered.

* * *

The heavy oaken table in the King's tent was covered by piles of scrolls and letters, and the odd leather-bound book. Aegon stood tall and upright to the rear of the tent, apparently deep in discussion with Jon Connington, now restored as Lord of Griffin's Roost. Tyrion could not help but compare him to Joffrey. His sister's son would have lounged in a chair and been waited on rather than speak to his commanders personally. As Tyrion and Varys entered, the gathered men sat around the table. Oberyn Martell, Ser Rolly Duckfield and Harry Strickland were also present.

Aegon began, "As you all know, we must take the castle before Stannis can bring an army south. It is now clear that Donnel Swann has no intention of yielding to us. We must assault."

"Must we?" Strickland asked, "Can we not await the arrival of the Martells? Once they see the size of the Dornish force, they will have no option but to surrender."

"Coward," muttered Duckfield.

Connington took over, "Our scouts have finally come through for us. Lord Swann's army is based at Fawnton, apparently awaiting Stannis' arrival. We have also had a rider from Lord Yronwood. His report is much more worrisome. I cannot be sure how much of this is true, but if it is the gospel truth then things are not as heavily in our favour as we believed."

Tyrion wished he had some wine. "Tell us then, Lord Hand." He was more drunk than he thought.

Connington glared at Tyrion before continuing, "Lord Yronwood writes that he has taken Blackhaven without bloodshed and marches to reinforce us with all haste."

"What is so bad about that?" Duckfield asked.

Varys tittered, "Maybe is we let the Lord Hand finish, we would find out."

"Thank you Varys. Yronwood continues, claiming that a green dragon ridden by Ser Edric Storm landed in the castle and took away the pregnant Lady Allyria Swann, flying off to the north."

As one, the entire gathering turned to face Varys, Tyrion included. The eunuch sighed, "I confess, I had heard something of this. As you know I sent Ser Andrew Estermont and Edric Storm to help Daenerys, and Edric bonded with the green dragon Rhaegal. According to my little birds, she attempted to feed Ser Andrew to her dragon Drogon. Edric Storm rescued him on Rhaegal, and they flew away."

Connington stared at Varys incredulously, "When were you going to tell me this?"

Aegon coughed, "More importantly, when were you going to tell _me _this?"

Varys simpered, "I only learned today, I suspected there would be a meeting so intended to announce it then. As I just did."

Aegon frowned before speaking again, "It would appear that we have lost a dragon to Stannis. This is not good. We have no dragons, they have one. My aunt is due soon, is there a way we can get word to her?"

Tyrion spoke up, "You cannot do that your grace."

"Why not?" Connington demanded.

"Because the whole point of us moving before she arrived was to enable Aegon to conquer territory, and so he could present himself as the rightful King before she arrived in Westeros. We must continue to do so. I suggest we take Storm's End. This will give us a more secure base than this camp. Stone does not burn, tents do."

"Have you forgotten what happened to Harrenhal, Imp?"

"No, but I fancy myself somewhat more experienced on dragons than you, my Lord Hand. I have studied them extensively. Balerion the Black Dread was fully grown, a beast of monstrous size. Rhaegal is much smaller, his fire will not burn so hot, nor will he be so invincible. I doubt that Stannis will risk his dragon being slain at Storm's End, now that he has one. Edric will most likely be used to augment his existing forces rather than as a force in his own right."

"The question remains. How do we take Storm's End?" Aegon asked.

It was Oberyn's turn to speak, "A three pronged assualt, on the north, west and south sides. Our first attempts focused on the gatehouses, allowing Swann to position all his crossbows and men in one place. We must split his forces."

"But by doing that we also split our own." Strickland pointed out. "It would be more prudent to wait."

"And let the Baratheon bastard come and burn our camp?" The Viper hissed.

"My Lord Lannister has just pointed out that that is unlikely."

"What happens when my brother's army does arrive then, Strickland?" Oberyn growled, "What if Swann does still not yield? Do we attack then? Or keep waiting? How long do we wait? When Stannis has come to kill us all? When the green beast comes and burns us to cinders? What good will your precious elephants be then?"

"Are you calling me a coward ser?"

"No, just lazy and indecisive."

"I will not stay here and listen to such... Your Grace, I must request your permission to leave."

Aegon fixed Strickland with a steely glare, "You may not. My uncle is quite right. We must attack, and we must do it properly. Prince Oberyn, you will lead the northern attack, Lord Strickland will have the south. I will lead the attack from the west."

Connington blanched, "Your Grace, I must council you against this. If you die..."

"Then there will be no need for me to better Daenerys. You keep fighting and serve her. She is my kin and heir."

"Your Grace.."

"Enough, my lord. I must be seen to be unafraid of battle and death if I am ever going to ask men to follow me to such."

* * *

Tyrion downed another goblet of wine as he sat atop his horse, Varys again at his side. They were atop a small rise to the west of Storm's End, from where they could see the banners moving forward. The Golden Company had not been idle during the long siege. As their siege engines had not landed with the bulk of the force, and were now on Tarth, along with most of the elephants, the sellswords had been forced to construct ladders with which to scale the walls. The Western force, under the King, also had a battering ram, as they were assaulting the only gate in the fortress' solid black walls. Each of the ladders and the ram went forwards covered by wood and leather shields, to protect the bearers. Once, the ladders were at the walls, these covers would be placed vertically in the ground and become shields from behind which Black Balaq's archers could fire and reload. Tyrion thought them quite ingenious.

They could not, from their position, see the other attacks on the castle, but knew that they had begun their onslaught. Donnel Swann's garrison would be hard pressed.

"What a glorious thing it is to fight and die for your King." Varys mused, "To fight and die a brutal, unnecessary death."

"You don't honestly think that do you?" Tyrion asked.

"That it is unnecessary and brutal? Yes. That it is glorious? Most definitely not. Yet, power lies where men believe it lies. Men believe my knowledge and little birds give me power, and so they do. Men believe House Lannister's famous wealth makes them powerful, and so it does. Men believe it is a glorious thing, and so it becomes so. What men believe often comes to be so."

"So you think it's all an illusion?"

"No, power is real, it is just bestowed by illusion. If you can convince men you are powerful then you are. Look at me for example, I have no great wealth, no land, no title, no army, yet I am a member of the Small Council and Master of Whisperers to King Aegon VI and have served several of his predecessors in the same way. My knowledge made men think I was powerful and so I became powerful. You are different. The son of the wealthiest lord in Westeros, former Hand of the King -"

"Acting Hand."

"Hand all the same. You and I have some very different origins, yet a clever man can always become powerful. He just needs to convince people he already is. The more people he can convince of that, the more powerful he becomes."

"Why are you telling me this?"

"Because sometimes, my lord, a very small man can cast a very large shadow."

* * *

In the solar of Storm's End, Tyrion watched Aegon, fresh from the assault. It had not been easy, the garrison had died almost to a man rather than yield. Ser Donnel Swann was before them now, forced to his knees by two of the Golden Company. The knight was badly battered, with a growing bruise on his head, and numerous cuts which would need treatment.

"You and your men fought well, ser," The King admitted.

"Not well enough."

Oberyn growled, "This is your King, you will show him the courtesy he deserves."

"He is not my King. Stannis Baratheon is my King. The One True King."

Oberyn strode forward, as if to strike the knight, but Aegon stopped him.

"Peace uncle, enough violence. Ser Donnel, your sister is married to Stannis is she not?"

"She is."

"Then you will not be harmed. Take him away, find him a cell. I will write to Stannis to let him know he lives."

Ser Donnel said no more as he was dragged from the room.

"You should have him killed," the captain of the Longspears said, "Show Stannis that you will have no mercy."

Aegon strode to the window, "Thank you for your counsel, Ser Nymor, but I shall do no such thing. I will keep him with us for now, but he may be worth a healthy ransom in time."

Tyrion smiled, the boy was thinking like a King, not just a King, a general. That was what they needed.


	100. Chapter 100: Brynden VII

_NOTE - Again, it's been ages. Here is a substantially longer than usual one for you, by way of recompense. Review, Favourite etc. PM with queries or requests. Enjoy!  
_

_Brynden_

The preparation of Winterfell for the coming winter was proceeding apace, yet there remained a worrying supply problem. The assembled armies of the North were still mostly based at the fortress, except for a detachment which Robb had led to Torrhen's Square, intent on restoring the castle to House Tallhart. It was only a small force, but Robb had left very specific orders for those who remained at Winterfell. Command was held by the Greatjon and Brynden, while the castle awaited Lady Catelyn's arrival.

His niece and her daughter had arrived from Castle Cerwyn the previous day, having been summoned as soon as Winterfell had been retaken. Her homecoming had been interesting, if difficult.

"I want these soldiers gone from my home, uncle."

"Cat, I can't do that. Robb ordered me to keep them here."

"We cannot continue to feed them. They must go."

"I can't dismiss them."

"You are the Blackfish, the man who defied his lord brother. You can change the command of my son."

"I cannot, Cat. Hoster was my brother, we always fought. Robb is different."

"Uncle, we cannot continue to feed so many men, not with winter upon us."

"I have no choice. I will not dismiss them."

"This is my home."

"It is your son's castle."

It had been a rather heated discussion, and one he did not relish reliving, though if Robb was not back soon, Catelyn was right. It was Arya he felt sorry for. The girl wanted so badly to help, to take up arms, and Robb had once again left her behind. Her brother didn't seem to understand, Brynden sighed. He must have thought that one battle was all she wanted, and after the fight at the Twins, she would give up. How wrong he was. Arya was more determined to fight than ever, and it was all Catelyn could do to stop her. Brynden has spoken to his niece about maybe letting her take a watch on the walls or two, just to keep her busy, but Lady Stark flatly refused.

Shaking the snow off his cloak and stamping his boots on the stone, he entered the Great Hall, where the remaining Lords of the North had gathered. Manderly, Woolfield, Ryswell, Lady Dustin, the Greatjon and Whoresbane Umber, Locke and Robett Glover looked up as he trudged over to them. Lords Karstark, Cerwyn and Lady Mormont had ridden with Robb and Leobald Tallhart to Torrhen's Square, as had Wylis Manderly and young Larence Snow. Tytos Blackwood stepped out of the shadow of the stairwell, looking for all the world like a vulture.

"Blackfish, we cannot keep our men here any longer. We must march now if we are to pass the Neck before it closes up with all this snow."

"I know Tytos, but Robb ordered us to remain. It's as if he thinks we will be needed again."

"Hardly," Glover intoned, "Only Deepwood Motte remains in enemy hands. You should go home Blackfish, see to your people."

"My Lord Tully!" One of Ryswell's sons ran into the Hall.

"Roger!" Lord Ryswell shouted, "You have command of the watch, why have you left your post?"

"I left Ser Gendry in charge father. My lord Blackfish, you need to see this, you all need to see this."

* * *

The gathered lords began to make for the gate to the Kingsroad, pulling cloaks tightly about them against the cold. They passed a sentry whose beard had been turned pure white by the falling snow, and one in Blackwood colours who shivered uncontrollably. Lord Blackwood stopped at his man and placed a hand on his shoulder.

"Tad, get inside. Get warm. Tell them I sent you in."

"Yes my lord, thank you my lord." The man smiled, before turning and jogging back to the keep.

As they walked, Brynden found himself overhearing the Greatjon and Lord Manderly muttering behind him.

"Jon my friend, we are losing our influence. The Young Wolf wants to be surrounded by other young wolves like Karstark and Cerwyn."

"Wyman, we are his loyal men, but we were Ned's men. We will be there for Robb as we were for his father, but you cannot expect him to treat us as his best friends, he will want people his own age, and this war is making them lords long before they would have been otherwise."

"I am sorry about your son my friend, he was close to Lord Stark wasn't he?"

"He was. Yet we must stay in focus, I must now protect the children that remain to me. Harmond is here, where I can keep an eye on him, and the girls are safe at the Hearth. It is Ben I worry for now."

"I know your pain, my friend, I lost my Wendel in that battle, yet our influence at Winterfell cannot be abandoned. Your daughter Lyarra is of an age with Stark is she not?"

"Enough Wyman!" Greatjon growled, "I will not jockey for position like some southern princeling. Besides, Robb has announced he will wed Alys Karstark."

"If that is so, he sure spends a lot of time with Lady Mormont."

Brynden rolled his eyes. Manderly was harmless really, but could not resist a bit of politicking.

* * *

He reached the top of the gatehouse and strode immediately over to Gendry, "What am I looking at son?"

"Over there my lord." Gendry pointed.

Straining his eyes, Brynden could just make out a rag tag column shuffling down the road through the snow.

"Who in seven hells would be out in this?" Lord Blackwood asked.

"I guess we'll find out. Inform Lady Stark that we have guests. Gendry, prepare a patrol, you're coming with me." Brynden spotted Arya beside the bastard knight. "Arya, get my horse ready."

* * *

Brynden and Gendry led a patrol of twelve riders out of the castle towards the shuffling column. As they got closer it became clear that they were mostly women and children, with a few white beards and green boys their only protection. They were an odd bunch, clad in rags and furs.

Pulling his men to a halt, Brynden hailed them.

"I am Ser Brynden Tully, commanding the castle of Winterfell. Who are you?" he asked, and a coarse voice responded.

"We are the people of Skagos, or what's left of us."

"Skagos? Why are you here?"

"We came to the mainland with your knight Blackwood. I was told to report to Lord Stark, and Lord Stark only."

"He is not here. He has gone to Torrhen's Square to free it from the ironborn. Where is Ser Lucas?"

"Gone north to the Wall with all our warriors. We took Karhold as Lord Stark asked, and now we come to you for food and shelter."

"Come inside, if what you say is true, then you have more than earned a warm meal."

* * *

Lord Stark and his column returned two days later, and Brynden was glad when he did. The tensions between the Skagosi and the other Northerners, who saw them as cannibals and wildlings, were running high, and it was all he could do to stop blood being shed. Lady Catelyn had tried also to keep the peace, but had recently retreated to the sept to pray. She prayed for Robb in his war, for Sansa, wherever she was now, for Bran beyond the Wall, and for Rickon in King's Landing. Not a word for Arya, except at the end.

"Maiden, help Arya grow to be a true lady."

Brynden had walked out at that stage. He could stand and wait for her to finish, but for her to worry about all her children, except the one who she could actually help was galling. It was as if Cat didn't even realise that Arya did not want to be a 'true lady', there was too much Lyanna in her.

The summons from his nephew came that evening, before he was due to meet all the lords in his solar. As he entered, Robb gestured for him to take a seat.

"Uncle, I have done something terrible. I cannot talk to mother about this, and as father is no longer with us, I turn to you."

"What is it son?"

"I am promised to Alys Karstark. I promised myself before all my lords, yet I cannot marry her."

"Why not?" Brynden understood marriage problems better than most.

"Because Dacey Mormont is pregnant with my child." The words tumbled from his mouth.

"Are you sure?"

"Yes, she told me when we left the Square."

"How can she be so sure if you only just... how long has this been going on?"

"Since we took the Twins."

"Gods. A bastard. It will be hard on her, but you are promised, Robb."

"I will not leave the child a bastard! I saw how mother treated Jon for fifteen years! I will not put my child through that. Surely you understand?"

"I do Robb, but you must keep this in perspective. Whatever you do, you face consequences. If you wed Lady Mormont, you will alienate the Karstarks _again_. Harrion Karstark is one of your closest friends, and they are a prickly folk. He will not take it well. Yet, if you marry Alys, it would be tantamount to abandoning Dacey and your child. You are between a rock and a hard place here Robb, and I can only tell you what I would do."

"Which is?"

"Screw marriage propriety. Go for love. I lost a woman and my child once, don't make the same mistake. Keep them close."

"But the Karstarks..."

"Speak to your mother Robb. She will know what to do."

"But she will tell me to marry Alys."

"That she will, but I have a way to convince her. You need her help."

"I do. Send for her."

* * *

Lady Catelyn arrived to see Robb seated with his head in his hands, and Brynden standing, hand on sword hilt, by the fireplace.

"What is it, my son?" She asked, worry on her face.

"Mother, I have done something, something I should not have done." While Robb told her all he had told his uncle, Brynden stood in silence, waiting for his moment.

When Robb had finished, Cat's reply was instant. "You must marry Alys. All your court saw you promise yourself."

Brynden coughed, "I believe Robb's concern is that he also believes it would be unfair on Lady Karstark. You of all people know what it is like to have your husband's bastard in the castle."

Catelyn sighed, "Yes, I do. I was hard on Jon, too hard. I see that now, looking back. You have made the mistake your father made, you have a chance to fix it, but that choice is yours Robb. I will help you with what you decide, but it must be your choice."

"I will marry Dacey. We must find a way to appease the Karstarks."

"Larence Snow will soon be Lord of the Hornwood will he not?"

"As soon as the King replies with his legitimisation. It is due any day. Do you think they would accept him?"

"There is only one way to find out."

"I will speak to them after the briefing."

* * *

Two ravens arrived that evening as they were eating, one bearing the seal of King Stannis, the other the sunburst of Karstark. Robb read them both and pocketed them in silence.

After the meal, the lords and commanders retired to Robb's solar. It was a tight squeeze with all of them in there, but at least it was warm. Outside in the darkness, a blizzard was raging, and Brynden grimaced at the freezing wind blowing up his spine through a gap in the window shutters. How had he ended up here? He made a mental note to always stand by the fire in future.

Robb gestured to him, and Brynden began by reading out the letter from King Stannis.

_Stannis of the House Baratheon, King of Westeros, Lord of the Seven Kingdoms, Lord of Storm's End and Protector of the Realm to Robb of the House Stark, Lord of Winterfell, Lord Paramount and Warden of the North._

_I have included with this message the legitimisation for your vassal Larence Snow, son of Lord Halys Hornwood, and my royal approval of his appointment as Lord of the Hornwood._

_With more saddening news, war has returned to the south. Dorne has risen against me and an imposter claiming to be Aegon, son of Rhaegar has landed in the Stormlands with the Golden Company. These two forces will have joined together by the time I am able to respond. It is clear now that this plot is greater than we could ever have expected. Daenerys Targaryen has wed Loras Tyrell and Highgarden has also declared for these usurpers. Even now, the Redwyne fleet is collecting her army of Unsullied from Essos. _

_There remains some hope however. Lord Lannister has peacefully ended the rebels in the Westerlands and moves to defend his lands against Lord Tyrell. I have raised the Crownlands and the Vale and am marching south to reinforce Lord Balon Swann, who has withdrawn to Fawnton. Our final piece of luck is the arrival of Ser Edric Storm upon the dragon Rhaegal. They and Ser Andrew Estermont have turned on Daenerys after she tried to feed Estermont to another of her dragons. We have a dragon._

_This fight will not be easy, though I will fight to the last. I charge you with the defence of the North, against any and all comers. There are rumours growing here in King's Landing, so there must be more in the North. Rumours of the dead rising and the Others walking again. _

_Hold the North, Lord Stark._

As soon as he finished, the room exploded with voices.

"A dragon?" scoffed Lord Manderly.

"Treacherous bastards!" bellowed Harrion Karstark.

"The Others are a myth!" Cley Cerwyn shouted.

"SILENCE!" roared the Greatjon.

As the gathered men and women quieted themselves, Robb stood.

"I will now read you the message from Ser Lucas Blackwood,"

_Karhold is yours. No resistance. Skagos has risen for you. They have fled from the dead to the mainland. The dead are rising and attacking the living. The legends of the Others are true. I know, I have fought them. The Wall is breached, the wildlings and Night's Watch cannot hold alone. I lead the Skagosi warriors north and send their women and children south to Winterfell. Please come, please bring men._

The silence that followed was broken by the Skagosi leader, who's named they now knew was Magnar.

"It's true, all of it. The Others may have been myths, but they're here now. Our people were slaughtered on Skagos, so we fled with Blackwood to Karhold. Our warriors have gone to the Wall to try and hold it, but they can't do it alone. We must help them!"

"We?" Cley Cerwyn snarled, "You are not the same as us, wildling."

"Enough!" Ryswell retorted, "If the man would risk his people over the waters between Skagos and the mainland, and then trudge through the snow for so long, I think he's telling the truth. What does it matter if we aren't the same? We're all human aren't we? These Others aren't, and they want to kill us, and then use our bodies for arrow fodder. I, for one, will not allow that. I say we trust him."

"What do you know of trust Ryswell? You let Bolton into Winterfell!"

"How dare you!" Lady Dustin rose to her father's defence, "We had no choice, and you would have done the same, and probably faster, you spineless eel."

Lady Stark intervened, "Lord Cerwyn, you will stop this at once."

"I will do no such thing, I take my orders from your son."

"Cley." Robb's voice was stern, "Leave it."

Cerwyn deflated, "Yes, my lord."

"Good. Now that you have all quite finished, we can get to business. We are going north to the Wall. I trust Lucas Blackwood, and Magnar is reliable. If Stannis has heard rumours in the capital, then it is likely to be almost too late. We do not have the time to mess around. I will march in the morning. Who will go with me?"

"I will, " the Greatjon rumbled.

"And I," Harrion Karstark nodded.

"Bear Island stands with you Robb," Dacey grinned, her hand subconsciously on her stomach. Brynden looked a little closer. Was it him, or did she seem a little larger?

One by one, the northern lords assented, Cley Cerwyn last. Robb then turned to Brynden and Lord Blackwood.

"You are not my vassals, I cannot command you and your men to join us. Even so, we will need every man. Will you march?"

"I will." Brynden replied, there was no doubt in his mind. He may be getting old, but there was enough fight in him for this.

"As will I," Blackwood whispered, "My son is up there."

"It is decided then, we march at dawn. Dismissed. Lord Karstark, Lady Alys, Lady Mormont, Lord Hornwood, mother, uncle, please remain."

Larence Hornwood, as he now was, made it almost to the door before it sunk in that the Lord Hornwood Robb had asked for was indeed him.

Those who remained gathered around Robb. He looked at his feet, took a deep breath, looked up again, and began.

"Harry, Alys, I owe you both a huge apology. I promised myself to you Alys, yet I find I cannot go through with my commitment."

Lord Karstark's craggy eyebrows furrowed, "Go on."

"There are two reasons for this, the first is that Lady Mormont is pregnant, with my child. The second, is that I love her."

"This is an outrage!" Karstark growled, "I have fought tooth and nail for you, and this is how you reward me?"

Alys slapped her brother's arm, "I am not a piece of meat, I have a say in this you know!"

Robb tried to console his friend, "Harry, please, hear me out -"

"No I will not! This goes beyond insult. I will march tomorrow, but I will march home. Good luck at the Wall, my lord." The big man turned and strode away, the door slamming behind him.

Robb slumped into his chair, and Dacey moved to his side.

Alys Karstark sighed, "All my brothers have too much fire in their blood. Lord Stark, I will hear what you have to say."

"I was hoping to arrange a marriage between yourself and Lord Hornwood. He is a brave warrior and a good friend to both myself and your brother. I had hoped it might calm Harry slightly."

Alys pursed her lips, "Well I am not exactly flattered by being passed on like some prize sow for breeding, but I always knew it would happen some day. To be honest, I have been underwhelmed by all my marriage prospects thus far. Arnolf tried to wed to cousin Cregan, Bolton tried to marry me off to his bastard, and you... Lord Stark, I am sure you are a wonderful man, but you aren't the right one for me. I'm not sure you could handle me. Maybe you can?" She addressed the last remark to Larence.

Brynden grinned inwardly, not only at the girl's outrageous flirting, but at the look of horror on Catelyn's face.

Larence Hornwood's only response was to take her by the arm and lead her out of the chamber. As the two left, Alys called back,

"Lord Stark, I will try to appease my brother. You will need him on the Wall."

Robb sighed again, "That did not go as I had hoped."

Dacey massaged his shoulder, "He will calm down Robb. He will not bear a grudge as his father would have."

"I am not so sure. Alys is right, we will need him at the Wall. Dacey, I want you to stay here when we leave."

"You are very wrong if you think that's how this marriage is going to work Robb Stark. I am a warrior-woman of Bear Island, and I will fight."

"But our baby..."

"If they pass the Wall it won't matter. We'll all be dead anyway. I'm going."

It was Robb's turn to deflate, "Fine, but no unnecessary risks."

Before Lady Mormont could reply, the wardrobe crashed open, and Arya rolled out onto the floor.

"Can I come Robb?"

Catelyn responded immediately, "Of course not, don't be so silly."

Brynden leaned in to Robb and whispered in his ear.

The Lord of Winterfell grinned, "What a good idea uncle. Arya, you will come with us, as Lady Dacey's squire. Who better to teach you than the warrior-lady of Bear Island?"

Catelyn looked horrified, Arya jubilant.


	101. Chapter 101: Davos XII

_NOTE - Another one for you, because I definitely shouldn't be revising for my exams next week. Ah well. I hope you are all enjoying this story, as it has certainly ballooned into something far larger than I had foreseen. My thanks to those who review regularly, or in some cases, every chapter. It really is great to get such fantastic feedback. Constructive criticism is most welcome, and please do PM me with suggestions, queries, requests and the like, even prompts if there is something you would like me to write. Follow, favourite, review and, most importantly, enjoy! S  
_

_Davos_

His ships had made good time, very good time. Some luck was on their side, and the wind had been behind them all the way. As _Black Betha_, _Red Crab _and _Vixen_ sailed into the harbour of King's Landing, Davos just hoped they had been fast enough. In a desperate attempt to shorten their trip by as much as possible, Davos had ordered the fleet to sail around the outside of Tarth, avoiding Shipbreaker Bay altogether. The deeper waters and fierce weather had cost them a couple of ships, but Davos could not afford to be sentimental. Clutching his knucklebones, he had prayed for the sailors on the doomed ships, but sailed on. As he and Lords Celtigar and Florent had made straight for the capital, Aurane Waters had taken the remaining ships to Dragonstone.

Met by a dozen Gold Cloaks on the dock, they made straight for the Small Council chamber, where Stannis' remaining advisors had gathered. Queen Lara sat in the King's seat, with Lords Velaryon and Rykker, and Sers Bryen Swann and Andar Royce.

"Lord Seaworth, I am glad you have returned. I trust your mission was successful?" The Queen smiled demurely.

"Regrettably not, your grace," Davos went on to tell them everything, from Ser Hobber to their encounter with Lord Hightower and the old man's news.

"This is grave news indeed, Davos," Lord Velaryon replied, "But your warning comes too late. This 'Aegon' has landed in the Stormlands and besieges Storm's End. Lord Balon Swann has withdrawn to Fawnton, while the King and Lord Gulian lead the troops of the Crownlands and Vale to reinforce them. Lord Harrold Arryn brought his troops here himself."

"I must go to help him. I am the Hand of the King."

Lord Celtigar stepped forward, "We will come too. Me and Erren here. Are there any troops left in the city we can take, your Grace?"

"Only my guards, a small detachment of the King's men who guard Shireen, the Kingsguard and the Gold Cloaks."

Lord Rykker spoke up, "It is worth moving the fleet to Shipbreaker Bay, to be ready to blockade Storm's End should the fake Targaryen take it. Plus, if we can destroy whatever fleet this pretender has gathered. If he has no escape route, then he is less likely to keep fighting."

"A good idea," the Queen replied, "So, Davos will ride south to meet the King. Lord Velaryon, you are Master of Ships, you will lead the fleet to Shipbreaker Bay. Ser Bryen, take my guards with Lord Seaworth, the King's men are sufficient to protect me and Shireen both, especially under the command of the Kingsguard."

"Your Grace, I must protest. Your father gave me strict instructions -"

"To obey me, cousin. You will obey me now. Prepare your men. Immediately."

"As you wish, my Queen."

As the knight rose and left the chamber, Ser Andar spoke for the first time, "If you have need of squires, Ser Marlon Manderly reports that his trainees are ready for battle experience. It may be worth taking them with you, Lord Hand."

"I think I will. My thanks to you both Lord Rykker, Ser Andar. You have both been instrumental to running the city in my absence, I charge you now to continue doing so."

"Of course, Lord Hand."

* * *

As Ser Bryen prepared his men to depart and Lord Florent returned to the docks to inform the captains of the new plan, Davos and Lord Celtigar made for the training grounds to recruit Ser Marlon's squires.

"Are you sure it's a good idea, Davos? Taking fresh boys into this fight?"

"No I am not, Ardrian, but I trust Marlon's judgement. If he says they are ready, then they are ready."

"I am not convinced."

"Maybe you will be when we see them."

The two men arrived as Mychel Redfort finished battering another lad into submission. Ser Marlon was about call up another pair of boys, but when he saw Davos, called them into line.

"Stand up straight boys, this is the King's Hand! He's come to decide what's to be done with you."

Davos walked down the line, remembering only about half of their names. The Freys he could easily guess, though which was which he had no clue. Redfort he knew as he had the same look as his elder brother Jasper, of the Kingsguard. Lord Lucos Chyttering he also knew, but not the northern boy or the lad with the hooked nose. Rickon stood at the far end of the line. Despite being only thirteen, he was taller than the other boys, and broader too. Young he may be, but appeared to be developing very quickly. Davos, as a father to seven sons knew a bit about boys maturing, and in his view Rickon was more mature than any other thirteen-year-old he had met.

"I'll take them with me," he said to Marlon, who immediately raised his voice to full parade volume.

"Hear that boys? We're going to help the King! Go to your rooms and get ready to leave. We'll meet by the stables in an hour to get you sorted with horses. Dismissed!"

As the boys ran off, the grizzled knight turned back to Davos, "They'll serve you well, Lord Hand, just tell whoever the Freys are assigned to to watch their valuables." Ser Marlon trudged off to prepare his own equipment.

On the way back to the Red Keep, Celtigar said only one thing, "I'm still not convinced."

* * *

The army camp outside Fawnton was impressive, and a perfect example of the Swann family approach to military efficiency. Laid out in neat rows of tents, divided into blocks of men who all served the same house. The Baratheon tents were on the western edge of the camp, with the Swann tents beside them, and it was there that Davos headed.

Inside his main command tent, King Stannis stood around a map detailing the approaches to Storm's End. Lord Arryn, a pimply youth of seventeen, was afforded place of honour at the King's right side. He was the only Lord Paramount present aside from the elder Lord Swann, who stood to Stannis' left. Balon Swann was there too, as were various Stormlander lords, including Lords Morrigen and Buckler. Ser Justin Massey Davos also saw, along with two of Stannis' other knights, Corliss Penny and Richard Horpe.

Davos hardly had time to open his mouth before the King spoke, "Ah, Davos. I hope you have good news for me." The Onion Knight sighed, could he not have asked in private? These Lords all thought Davos was well above his status already, now they would be justified in thinking so.

"No, Your Grace." He explained again the situation, including the movement of the fleet south to blockade Shipbreaker Bay.

"No matter," Stannis brushed this failure away, "We do not have time to wallow in our mistakes. When my nephew gets back, he will provide us with the report we need. Ser Andrew, what news from your outriders?"

It was then that Davos noticed Ser Andrew Estermont standing behind Lord Swann. _What is he doing here? He should be in Pentos._ The young knight began to reply, "Your Grace, we only got as far as Aegon's pickets. He is well-advised, and the first line of pickets is here," he indicated a point on the map, "We suspect his riders have been investigating our camp already, though we have not caught any. He has his defences out wide, whatever is going on outside Storm's End, he doesn't want us to see it."

Stannis frowned, "Very well, we wait for Edric's report then."_ Edric Storm is here? What is going on?_

The air was split by a deafening roar, and a sound akin to a hurricane, then the shuddering thump of a great weight hitting the earth. Stannis smiled, "Good, he is here."

Davos, now very confused, followed Stannis and the other lords out of the tent, and then he understood. A great emerald dragon, at least twenty feet from snout to tail tip, with claws like billhooks, and on its back, a man in a black tabard upon which was emblazoned a golden stag. _The bastard sigill of Baratheon. Surely that cannot be Edric._

It was. As the knight dismounted and approached the King, Davos recognised his face. How Edric had grown, the image of his father Robert. _How did he become a dragon rider? I must speak with Andrew._

So, while Edric made his report to Stannis, Davos moved over to Ser Andrew and tapped him on the shoulder.

"I told you to go to Pentos."

"Err, yes, yes you did." Andrew spluttered, before whispering the events since his and Edric's flight from King's Landing to Davos, trying not to interrupt the briefing. He finished just in time to hear Edric say,

"They have ladders and rams, with wooden covers to protect the crews. My guess is an attack is inevitable. We won't get there in time to stop them, and Rhaegal is not strong enough yet to take them on alone."

Stannis ground his teeth, "Damn them!" He slammed his fist onto the table, making Harrold Arryn jump.

The elder Lord Swann coughed, "Donnel will do his best, my King. But he does not have the men to hold off so many."

The King remained silent. The time passed as Stannis thought. No-one dared move, or interrupt. Finally, he stood upright.

"We wait."

"Begging your pardon, Your Grace, but for what?" asked Justin Massey.

"For the Martell army to join Aegon. Then we meet them in the field."

"But they'll take Storm's End!"

"Maybe, but they won't stay there, not if the fleet moves south to Shipbreaker Bay and cuts off their fleet, as Davos reports. Without an escape route, Aegon will have to push inland. Assuming Lord Lannister can hold the Tyrells, then we won't be attacked in the rear, and can afford to wait. He cannot. He must push on us to gain ground and prevent his mercenaries squabbling. On an open field, we would defeat them anyway, but with Edric and Rhaegal, we will crush them."

The gathered Lords cheered before beginning to disperse. Stannis approached Davos and clasped his shoulder.

"How fares my wife?"

"Very well, Your Grace. The child is beginning to show. She insisted that her cousin Bryen and his men accompany me to help you, she wouldn't take no for an answer." They began to walk.

"She is determined. Did you see Shireen?" He asked, brushing aside the tent flap.

"No, Your Grace. She was out riding, and I left very soon after arriving, though the Queen assures me she is well."

"And you brought Young Stark?"

"I did, Your Grace. Ser Marlon says he is his best pupil."

"Send him and Alyn Blackwood to me, I need squires.

"Yes, my King."

Stannis turned and headed back to his tent, but Davos continued walking through the camp. So much in his world had changed. He had gone from gutter snipe to Lord Paramount and Hand of the King. His lord and master was King, his sons captained ships of the royal fleet. Dragons had returned to the world, and with them, the Targaryens. As he reached his own tent, he felt it on his bare skin. A cold wind. He looked up at the sky as the snow began to fall.


	102. Chapter 102: Jon IX

_NOTE - As things cool down across Westeros, events are heating up at the Wall. Enjoy!  
_

_Jon_

The snow continued to fall. Every morning, the few remaining Night's Watch and the wildlings dug out the defences they had built around the breach in the Wall. Many of the larger chunks of ice had survived the collapse of the Wall, and Othell Yarwyck had been quick to set his men to chopping them up into moveable chunks, enabling the breach to be barricaded far better than anyone had ever expected. Despite this, it had not been easy. Losses were high, particularly among the unarmoured wildlings. It had been four days since the Wall fell and their desperate alliance had been forged. Four days and four nights. Four nights of on-off fighting against the wights, four days of on-off fighting between the Watch and the Free Folk. Neither group trusted the other enough to share a watch, each group kept themselves to themselves. Despite Mance's best efforts, the wildlings were belligerent at best, and many refused to take commands from the Watch officers.

He nursed his wrist as he walked along the line of men on watch. They only held this breach now, barely three hundred paces long. To begin with they had tried to hold the remainder of the Wall itself, but as it became clear that the Others were focusing on the breach, Jon had moved all his men to defend it. Ghost padded along quietly at his side, silent as always. He had heard the wildlings muttering 'warg' under their breath as he passed them, but had learned to ignore it. The last thing he needed now was for them to judge him some sort of evil sorcerer. He passed a wildling woman huddled against the ice blocks, sheltering from the wind, spear leaning on her shoulder. As he passed her, she stuck the spear out, causing him to stumble. She laughed and stood. As she pulled back her hood, long flame-red hair tumbled out, and Jon recognised her as the woman who had been beside Mance when the pact had been made.

"Come on crow, where's your sense of fun." She began to imitate him, "Uhh, I'm Jon Snow, and I live in a big castle made of ice and uhhhhh, I want all the Free Folk to bow before me and call me 'my lord'."

She was teasing him, he knew she was, but it still annoyed him. He didn't want that, didn't want anyone to bow to him. "Shut up. You're supposed to be keeping watch."

"They ain't coming Lord Crow. It's all a woman can do to sit here and try to keep warm. Maybe you should sit and keep me warm?"

"Just stop it and get on with the watch." He turned and walked away, feeling his face flush deep crimson despite the cold.

"You like 'er crow?" Another wildling growled through a black, snow-covered beard, "She won't 'ave you unless you take 'er. 'Er name's Ygritte. Get in quick though, the ones what are kissed by fire always go fast."

"I don't like her, now back to your watch." He admonished the man. All the same, he felt a strange glow which warmed him against the bitter wind. _Ygritte, the girl kissed by fire._

* * *

He met Mance, Tormund and the others just before it went dark. They hadn't seen the sun for the clouds in almost three days, the only distinction between night and day being how one was slightly darker than the other. Soon the Endless Night would set in, and there would be no respite at all. They all knew of the properties of the obsidian daggers now, and they had been shared between the best fighters of the Watch and the Free Folk. There were not nearly enough to go around though, nor had they been used yet. The Others seemed content to throw their wights at the Wall rather than lead the assault personally, though Jon has seen them occasionally, sitting astride their dead horses just beyond arrow range. Even Ulmer's goldenheart longbow couldn't reach them. Their shrieks provided an early warning of when an attack was coming, and it put the fear of the gods, old and new, into the men of the Watch and the wildings.

"Mance, I've had enough of this," Gerrick Kingsblood was moaning, "These crow commanders order my people about like kneelers. We are the Free Folk Mance, why aren't we free?"

"You are free to leave anytime you wish," Cotter Pyke challenged him, "But by now there'll be no food to the south until you reach Winterfell, and I doubt Lord Stark will be as generous as us."

"Enough." Jon stopped them before it could spiral out of control, "We cannot fight amongst ourselves. Our enemy is out there."

"The boy's right," Mance echoed, "We should be focusing on keeping them out there too."

"It's easy enough for them," Tormund rumbled, "They won't even give us steel."

Thoren Smallwood sighed, "I've given you what we have. Most of our supplies were destroyed when you brought down the Wall!"

"And who's fault is that! Our people were dying!" The woman called Ygritte snarled.

Their squabbling was ended by a scream, a woman's scream, and then the call to arms. Three long blasts on the horn. Their fight forgotten, the various captains and wildlings grabbed their weapons and ran to the breach. Jon was with them, Ghost padding along at his side. But when they reached them Wall, what he saw hit him like a gale force wind. The men and women who had been on watch, dead, all of them. Their bodies lay where they had fallen, yet not one wight could be seen. Then the shriek came again.

Atop the makeshift defences it stood, at least seven feet tall and pale as ice, it's cold skin hanging loosely from its gaunt face. In it's hand a thin blade glowing with a haze of blue. It seemed to look at him, right at Jon, before it raised it's arm and pointed. The bodies at it's feet began to shift, then stood. Jon raised Longclaw in his right hand, hoping he would not have to use his left. Ygritte snarled and launched an arrow, which hit one of the newly-raised wights, but did not slow it. As they watched their former comrades shamble towards them, more wights began to swarm over the defences. Jon knew it was over.

"Fall back! Emmett, Theon, Jarmen, with me! Form a rearguard to cover the escape." He turned to the King-Beyond-the-Wall, "Get your people out of here. Head south, warn them!"

As the defenders of the Wall scattered throughout Castle Black as they fled, Sam ran up to him, "Jon! What's going on?"

"They're through. Take Maester Aemon on what horses you can, get south, make for Winterfell. Warn Robb. Go!"

The evacuation of Castle Black was rushed and disorganised, but that was Mance's problem now. He would hold the enemy long enough for them to get away. Pyke would command the Watch after he was dead. As he made to return to the fight, he felt a heavy hand on his shoulder.

"I'm coming too, crow." Tormund Giantsbane growled.

The two men, with the small rearguard Theon and Iron Emmett had gathered, charged the wights.

He did not know how long he fought, hewing through anything that approached him. Some of the wights were little more than skeletons, men long dead before the Others' magic had raised them once more. Others of them were fresh, men of the Watch who had died during the defence or wildlings killed before the collapse of the Wall. One came at him, swinging a good steel blade. Parrying furiously, Jon realised that it was Bowen Marsh. The Old Pomegranate must have been commanding the defence when the Other had come. Twisting out of the wights reach, Jon brought Longclaw around in a great arc, slicing Marsh's head from his dead body. The Valyrian steel seemed to make the dead flesh sizzle with an unknown heat before the body collapsed to the icy floor.

Looking up from his opponent, Jon saw his rearguard dramatically reduced, and now forced almost to the edge of Castle Black. Mance would be away by now, leading his people and the remainder of the Watch south to Winterfell, and to Robb. Every second he could hold out now would give Robb another second to prepare.

A scream pulled Jon back to the present. Gerrick Kingsblood, who had been taking a break from the frontline to stem the bleeding on a cut to his upper arm, fell to the floor. Behind him, wights poured around the egdes of the buildings, surrounding the few remaining defenders. Fewer than a dozen of them remained, and Jon felt the despair creep up his throat. Steeling himself, he flung himself back into the melee. He swung Longclaw with both hands as he tried to cut a path through the enemy. There was only one hope of holding them now, and that meant killing the Other. It was there, just beyond the fighting, watching and waiting to raise their corpses into it's service. But Jon couldn't reach it, it was too far, there were too many wights between them.

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Theon covering the wounded Thoren Smallwood, sword in one hand, torch in the other. Ygritte loosed arrow after arrow into their shambling ranks, but the wights could not be slowed. Tormund was there, his mighty axe in one hand, tiny obsidian dagger in the other, hewing them down as they tried to surround the defenders. Then, another shriek, this one more piercing than the others. Jon turned just in time to see Jarmen Buckwell, one of his best fighters, flung to the ground. The Other attacked him furiously. Despite Jarmen hauling himself up, and using every ounce of his formidable skill, the Other's swordwork made him look no better than a boy playing at knights. It was _playing_ with him. Jon began to cut a path to his friend. He downed the wight in front of him just as Jarmen parried a lunging attack from the wight. The steel blade shattered. Jarmen grunted and the Other screeched in triumph. As the ranger fell to his knees, Jon found himself screaming. He threw himself at the Other, yet no matter how he attacked, it was ready for him, he couldn't get past it's guard, for so tall a being, it was supernaturally swift, dodging his swings and slipping out of reach.

It raised it's icy blade high, and swung it down. On instinct, knowing that it would not work, Jon raised Longclaw to block the blow. The blades connected and rung. But neither shattered. The creature seemed momentarily stunned, but soon launched another offensive, pushing Jon to his very limits, before it switched tactics, and delivered a powerful kick to his chest, sending Jon flying through the air.

Pulling himself up, Jon realised that only Tormund, Ygritte, Theon, Iron Emmett, Smallwood and Ghost were still fighting. Smallwood had obviously taken a crippling wound to the leg, as he lay beside Ygritte, holding up a torch for her. She lit her arrows in the flame and fired into the oncoming ranks. Wights fell, but they all knew it was too late. The Other advanced on Jon's prostrate form.

Ghost stopped, and an eagle screeched. The noise cut through the silence. The howl was answered by a roar. The Other looked up from his prey, and shrieked again. The wights surged forwards. Jon turned and saw, up on the ridge, banners bearing sigils he did not recognise. But one he did. The grey direwolf on white of his father's house. _Robb _he thought, _Robb is here._

He lay there, his head ringing from the impact with the ground. forgotten by the Other, just as the other remaining defenders were forgotten by the wights. The army of the dead seemed to form up against this new foe. Robb's forces charged, yet Jon, as he pulled himself up, realised something. These new troops were not men of the North, nor did they ride horses. They were wildlings, or seemed to be, and they sat astride goat-like creatures, and at their head, a huge man astride a snow bear. This strange force crashed into the ranks of the dead. Jon grew dizzier, he swayed on his feet, suddenly light-headed, and fell to the floor.

* * *

_He was running now, running after the dead-men as they ran. It had been a good fight, and he had killed many of the dead-men, but now his man lay on the ice. He wanted to kill them all. He could taste the dead-blood in his mouth, the rot-meat and dead-blood of the dead-men. The big-ice-bear had arrived and with it many horn-preys. They had crushed the dead-men, and the tall-ice-walker had run. He had to get back to his man now. He was hungry. So hungry. He stopped and began to feast on one of the fresher-blood dead-men.  
_

* * *

Jon woke with a start, jolting upright. He could taste the dead body in his mouth. Unable to control himself, he threw up. Heaving and retching onto the floor until there was nothing more in his stomach to expel. He wasn't dead. He could see the sky, the white-grey clouds billowing above him, yet it was still dark. He became vaguely aware that he was moving backwards.

"Where am I?" he tried to ask.

"You are on the back of sledge, heading south from the Wall." An unfamiliar voice answered from beside him. Jon couldn't see who spoke, only the clouds. He must have been lying on his back.

The voice continued, "I am Ser Lucas Blackwood, a good friend of your brother's. He sent me north to Skagos, to rally the people of the island to fight for him, and then I brought them here, hoping to defend the Wall. Fortunately, we arrived just in time to save what remained of your valiant rearguard and to help you escape."

Jon couldn't place much of what the man said. Skagos? Blackwood? None of it made sense.

The voice came again, "Sleep Lord Commander. You need it."

Unable to resist, Jon's eyes closed again.


	103. Chapter 103: Kevan XIII

_NOTE - Well, it has been a while. Hopefully, this extra long chapter will go some way to making up for that. More to come, hopefully in the next day or two! Enjoy.  
_

_Kevan_

The southern borders of the Westerlands were marked by the end of the rolling hills which formed most of the terrain of his homeland. Kevan had reasoned that the Tyrell attack would split, and come through each of the three main valley passes towards the heart of his lands. That was what he would have done. The vast numerical advantage held by the Reachmen would mean that Kevan would have to split his forces to meet them, or risk being outflanked. In addition to that, a breakthrough at any one point would force a retreat from all three and cripple the defences of the West. That was what Kevan would have done. Mace Tyrell however, was not doing that. He had kept his forces concentrated and pushed towards the easternmost of the valleys, the one which led straight up the river Silverhead to the Serrett seat of Silverhill. The river and castle were rightly named. The hills surrounding the small holdfast were so abundant in silver that small amounts would often be washed up from the caves and underground streams and into the river proper. The discovery of these nuggets had prompted the arrival of smallfolk who wanted a better life, and naturally, the nobility had followed. That had been many centuries ago. Over time, the First Men petty kings of Silverhill had married and gradually been subsumed by the Andals of House Serrett. That family had ruled here ever since, relying upon the mineral wealth of their land to live.

The vast bulk of the Tyrell host had advanced with what Kevan could only describe as recklessness, with minimal outriders or scouts. Lord Tyrell's confidence in his numbers had got the better of him. Showing no caution when advancing into hostile territory was a rookie mistake, why had the Fat Flower made it? While his own military reputation was somewhat lacking, he had with him some truly professional commanders. Randyll Tarly was by all accounts one of the most prominent soldiers in the Seven Kingdoms, the only man to have defeated Robert Baratheon in the field; Mathis Rowan was a veteran of as many conflicts as Kevan or Stannis; Garlan Tyrell had proved himself at Brightwater Keep and many other battlefields. Not a single one of them would have allowed such an overtly reckless advance. Kevan was suspicious to say the least. What were they planning?

He sat astride his horse on a ridge two miles south of his defensive line. Ser Addam's outriders had been tracking Tyrell's column for days, yet had encountered no enemy riders and had been able to survey the enemy unopposed. It appeared to be all the forces of the Reach, and all the houses sworn to Highgarden were evidenced by their banners. Just through a quick glance through his Myrish glass, Kevan could see the rose of Tyrell, bull of Bulwer, centaur of Caswell, hives of Beesbury, huntsman of Tarly and more. It was clear now that the Hightowers and their vassals had, as Ser Addam had reported, abandoned Stannis' cause.

The valley narrowed further up the road towards Silverhill, and it was there that Kevan had entrenched his forces. The narrower the defensive line, the fewer troops Tyrell could attack him with. The resulting crush of men would turn the Reachmen into arrow fodder for his archers. It had its flaws as a strategy; there was a substantial chance that the enemies sheer numbers would push through regardless, the Westermen were outnumbered at least four to one. Yet it was the only strategy he had been able to produce. It was a plan lifted almost directly from a history of the Age of Heroes. Archmaester Arriman's _Wars of the Westermen_ was a leading military historical work even now, so many centuries after its completion. King Loren II Lannister had defended against the forces of Garth VI Gardener in an almost identical way, in the very same valley. Loren had emerged victorious on that day, but it was a pyrrhic victory, won only due to Garth's tactical ineptitude. Kevan hoped he could do the same.

His men had done their best to prepare what defences they had. As soon as they had learned of the enemy approach, and as soon as their plan had become apparent, they had begun their work. A six foot wooden palisade stretched right across the battleline now, with a ditch fifty paces in front of it. They had buried stakes in the ditch and covered it with light sods and leaf litter in a bid to disguise it. Kevan hoped against hope that this line would hold. the weaponry stocks of Casterly Rock, Silverhill and all castles nearby had been emptied of spears and arrows to bombard the enemy with, yet there remained no guarantee of success.

The wind began to pick up. Especially here on the ridge overlooking the terrain, it was bitterly cold and bit at Kevan's very bones. Last night, the relentless rain had given way to snow, and the mud of the previous week had given way to frozen earth. Though the snow had not lasted long, it would come again tonight. The weather only made the terrain worse. Right now he would take any advantage he could get.

* * *

Back behind his own lines, he sat down with his sons to eat before he spoke to his lords. He was very proud of them, they were true knights, not to mention true Lannisters. They were young still, while he grew old, yet he was happy that his heir would rule well. Willem had the mind of a shrewd leader, while Martyn would be his brother's strong right arm, as he had been Tywin's. He thought again of all the times he had led the van for his brother, such as on the counter-attack against the Greyjoys back when Robert was still King. It had been simpler. His excursions into politics were limited and all that mattered was that he follow Tywin's orders and see them through.

Both of his boys seemed happy in their respective marriages. Both Lady Alyssa and Lady Cerissa now resided in the Rock, supposedly receiving informal instruction on running a castle from Genna, but also to keep them as safe as possible. Janei and Dorna were there too. Kevan was determined not to lose anyone else to this war, but knew that neither his sons nor his bannermen would respect him if he hid them away in the Rock too. He recalled his last conversation with Genna before he set out. They had been in his solar, late at night.

_"Dorna should manage Casterly Rock Kevan. I will help her where I can, but she is your wife. It is her duty now."_

_"She cannot Genna. The stress would do her no good."_

_"You cannot keep her wrapped up safe and warm any longer Kevan, winter is here and we all must do our part."_

_"I am doing my part sister, I just ask you to help my wife with hers."_

_"Very well, though it sits uneasy with me."_

_"You will understand when you have been with her for a while. She is not as strong as you Genna."_

_Genna giggled, "My husband is not as strong as I am."_

_"No, he is not. I am surprised he is not joining the army."_

_"Emmon is still working on the fleet, and he is no military man."_

_"Do you ever wish you had married another? Someone Tywin would have found for you?"_

_"No. Sometimes I wonder if it could have been different, but then I think about it. If father hadn't arranged this marriage, Tywin would not have opposed it. Had Tywin not done that, how long would our father continued so? No, I feel it was for the best for our House."_

_"It is not fair that it fell upon you, you were so young."_

_"We all were Kevan. Me, you, Tywin, Tyg and Gerion. The Golden Cubs, I heard old Vylarr call us once or twice."_

_"We are not cubs any more sister. I am old and greying, our brothers are dead."_

_"And I am old and fat. We are not cubs any more, but your boys and Janei are. Keep them safe Kevan, we will need_ them."

The meal before them was not as lavish as it would have been had Tywin been with them. Kevan was determined to preserve his supplies. He looked across at Willem, who had barely touched his.

"You should eat, son. These next few days will be some of the toughest you've ever known."

Willem shook his head, "What if it's all for nothing father? What if we lose?"

Kevan put down his knife and leaned forward on his elbows. _What can I tell him? _

"Willem, you are my eldest living son. You will rule the Westerlands after me. That is why we must not lose. All this, for your house, for your family."

"I understand that father, I just wonder...is it so bad a thing to give in? Winter is upon us, and we don't know how long it will last. Why not give in, go home and prepare as best we can? We could be ready for more snow, we could live."

Kevan sighed, he had wondered this many times. Why could wars not be put aside? Return to them in the summer if you must, but why not leave them for the winter? Winter campaigns were hellish to say the least, except the seven hells would be warmer. Yet that was not how the world was. Standing and moving away from the table, he started to reply.

"I once wondered that, I still do. Yet there are some things that cannot change, no matter how we would wish them to. A throne does things to men, andd women too. In many ways, it can consume them. All that power, it is alluring. Aerys was enchanted by it, convinced of his own power and greatness, as were so many Targaryens before him. I cannot see a future under the Targaryens in which we have peace. I believe we could have it under Stannis. That is why I am fighting."

"Because you want peace?" Martyn, ever the warrior of the two, sounded incredulous.

"Yes. I have made myself through war, as have so many others, yet few truly desire it. Some, like Mace Tyrell, do not see the human cost of their ambitions. Others, like Walder Frey, do not care. I do. I look across the battlefield when it is all over and think that each of these wounded men, each of these dead bodies, is someone's son. I know the pain of losing a son now, and would not wish it upon anyone. Stannis Baratheon will bring peace and stability, because he sees what I see on that battlefield, Lord Seaworth sees what I see, as does Lord Stark."

"So to keep people from dying, you lead them to battle?"

"Yes. It seems odd at first glance, but at its very core it makes sense. Here, let us examine the situation. We know that Stannis is now challenged by two Targaryens. What happens if they win?"

"They marry and share the Iron Throne."

"Would that it were so simple Martyn. No, that will not be the case for Daenerys Stormborn. I do not think she, who has always believed the Iron Throne rightfully hers, who has conquered the great cities of the East, will give in so easily. Plus, she and Aegon cannot marry each other, for they are promised to Arianne Martell and Loras Tyrell respectively. Already the victorious return of the dragon kings is a camp divided. How long after Stannis' death until there is another Dance of Dragons? How long until the bloodshed comes again?"

Realisation was dawning on Martyn's face, yet Willem still looked concerned.

"Father, why then has Stannis named Shireen his heir, whether he has a son by the Queen or not? King Viserys did that, and that led to the first Dance of Dragons."

"That it did. This will be different I think. All of those loyal to Stannis saw Shireen made heir, officially. That did not happen with Rhaenyra. Stannis made it perfectly clear that Shireen was his heir to Lord Swann and the Queen when they arranged the marriage. With the Dance, there was no such distinction. The Dance arose from Queen Alicent and the Hightowers backing Aegon, yet the Swanns will not oppose Shireen's succession."

"Why not?"

"Lord Swann is now a Lord Paramount, his son will rule Stonehelm and the Stormlands after him, and his other son already rules Blackhaven. His daughter is married to the King, and seems a close friend of Shireen's. Lord Gulian is a cautious man, he will not throw it all away on a cause he cannot win."

"Why couldn't he win?"

"Shireen will have the greater support. Lord Seaworth will support her, as will the Starks and Tullys, probably the Arryns too. Not to mention us."

"Why Shireen father? Why would we support her over a son?" Martyn asked, "I agree, but I want to know why."

"Two reasons. Firstly, she is the one Stannis has chosen. We owe who we are now to King Stannis. Tywin cast us out, without Stannis we would be hedge knights at best. If the King believes Shireen to be suitable, then I will support that decision. Secondly, I have met her. Shireen is smart and well-suited to ruling. Harsh as it sounds, she is used to being rejected and unloved, so she will not pander to lords for their affection. She has her father's nouse and a keen mind."

A shout came from outside the tent, "Let me in you dozy fucker!" Kevan would recognise Sandor Clegane's voice anywhere.

"Let him in!"

No sooner had he shouted than the huge bulk of the Hound ducked into the tent, followed by the smaller form of Ser Artos Brax. Sandor Clegane still wore his battered old armour and his greatsword across his back, while Brax looked as if he had just tumbled out of bed. Both had a light dusting of snow on their shoulders.

"They're coming up sooner than we expected, my lord," Artos reported.

"They know we're here" The Hound rumbled, "I sent Marbrand and Lydden out to pick off their scouts. Don't want them having too clear an idea of what they're up against."

"Well done, both of you. Call the men to, we must be ready. How far away?"

"Was two miles, they'll be closer now. Fucking stupid of Tyrell to try a night attack, has no idea what he's marching into." The man's language had not improved with his rise in social standing.

"Then we'd best be quick. Willem, Martyn, go and prepare, and send me Rollam. Clegane, see to the men. Artos, you know what to do."

As the others left, Brax remained.

"Are you sure you don't want me with you my lord? One of my brothers could go, or the Strongboar, anyone really, it doesn't even have to be a knight. Surely I am more use here, fighting."

"No. I trust you to get through to your father. I need you to tell him to wait for the signal from me before he attacks their rear. You know what you need to do, now do it. Dismissed."

No sooner had Artos turned and left the tent than Rollam Westerling entered. He was small for his age, and a tad thin, but conscientious. The more common blood of his mother's family had come out in him, and he carried none of the traditional Westerling features, instead sharing his mothers thin nose and shell-like ears.

"You wanted me, my lord?"

"Yes. Help me get this armour on will you?"

* * *

Kevan stood behind the palisade, peering through a crack between two of the logs. There was still no sign of the Tyrell force. They could not be far off now. He had the Strongboar and Clegane beside him as well as his sons and some runners to convey his orders down the line. He had ordered the torches put out all along the palisade, so the enemy would be unable to see the ditches in front of the defences. The clearing before the palisade, about two hundred paces, was littered with the bodies of a cavalry patrol that had broken through Ser Addam's net. Without any light from the defenders, the riders had not seen the arrows in the dark. True it made aiming harder, forcing the archers to rely upon the torches carried by the enemy themselves, but the added fear factor of the unseen death would be vital in breaking so large an army. He hoped Ser Artos would make it through. He couldn't possibly be there by now, but hopefully he was clear of the Tyrell pickets.

Someone patted him on the shoulder, it was Tommen. The lad had been taken on as Ser Addam Marbrand's squire as Kevan requested, and seemed to be flourishing in the role.

"My lord, Ser Addam sent me, he's pulled back, the main force will be upon us shortly."

"Thank you lad, now back to your post."

As Tommen ran off, Kevan thought. He would try and get Stannis to legitimise him as his son, in time. The lad deserved a family who cared.

Snapping himself back to the present, he heard Clegane pass the order for silence. The quiet was eerie. Peering out beyond the palisade, all Kevan could see was a dark mass where the woods began. He had positioned himself just to the east of the road, with the river to his left. The road and the river were the two weakest points of the line, and as such he had placed each under the command of a trusted lieutenant; Daven held the river while Humphrey Serrett covered the road. The far right answered to Roland Crakehall, and the far left to Ontario Jast. All the troops here were infantry; archers and spearmen. Kevan had trusted all his horse to Lord Brax for his surprise attack, hoping he wouldn't need them here. Rollam Westerling was just behind the lines, holding Kevan's horse at the ready, should he be needed anywhere along the defences.

There, in the trees. A light flickered. Then more appeared. Torches, held by the first wave of the Tyrell attack, began to materialise in the dark. They drew gradually closer to the darkened palisade, then stopped. The eerie silence returned as the two sides faced off. Somewhere, a trumpet sounded and the Tyrell forces launched into a charge with a deafening roar. It was impossible to count how many, not by the light of their torches.

Kevan raised his hand, "Hold!"

The charging infantry drew closer, only fifty paces from the ditches, fewer at their uncontrolled speed.

"Hold!"

They were almost there, just a few more... The troops at the front reached the ditch. As one, the leading ranks of men fell into the ditches. As the screams began to carry through the night to the defenders, Kevan watched as chaos ran through the Tyrell soldiers. Those towards the front scrabbled to a standstill, but those further back who remained unaware of the disaster, continued onwards, pushing their compatriots on and into the ditch on top o fthose already fallen. The resulting crush was just what Kevan had been waiting for.

"Loose!"

His archers aimed high, and released. The screams of the injured beyond the palisade and the cries of the panicked Reachmen desperately trying to stop their comrades disguised the rush of the thousands of arrows soaring unnoticed into the air. Again Kevan stared through the gap in the palisade, waiting to see the result. The hail of arrows swept the massed and panicked ranks of the Tyrells like a summer storm. Men fell where they stood, felled by some unseen blow. Chaos reigned. Now was the time.

Kevan turned to the Strongboar.

"Now."

Ser Lyle Crakehall pulled back the string on a huge oaken longbow, lit the arrow in a small brazier, the only one all along the line still lit, aimed high and released. The arrow soared into the air, a red-tailed comet shooting high above the battle.

The signal given, Kevan turned back to the battle, hoping Brax had seen it. The rain of shafts continued to fall on the disoriented Tyrells, bringing more and more of them down. Yet, some semblance of order was returning, and the mass of men was beginning to pull back, raising their shields above their heads as they did so. Kevan began to wonder, who could restore order to such a ramshackle mess? Then he saw him. At the head of a knot of knights in full plate, a lean man in boiled leather and mail, the Tarly huntsman striding proudly across his hauberk, the ancestral Valyrian steel blade Heartsbane in his hand. Randyll Tarly fought bare-headed, and his bald pate and close-cropped beard were clear to see in the torchlight around him. Kevan was tempted to have his archers aim at such an obvious target, but didn't. That was no way for a man of Tarly's renown to end. Yet, his death might end the fight now. But before he could give the order the enemy general had merged back into the crush of his own soldiers.

As Tarly's men pulled back out of range, the archers ceased their fire. In the brief lull, Kevan waited for word from the other sections. Each one had held with relative ease. His trap had worked, but it had now been sprung. His only hope now was to hold until Lord Brax and his cavalry could cause enough chaos to cause a withdrawal. Brax had his orders. He would split his command and hit them from several directions at once and cycle their charges, so the pressure was constantly maintained. If this failed, he was to pull back and send up three fire arrows at the same time to alert Kevan. If he broke them, he was to send up only one. No arrows had gone up yet.

Tarly wasted no time in reforming his men for another attack, but this time he knew what he faced. His men came in, torches doused to hide them from the archers, shields raised high. When they reached the ditch they formed a shieldwall.

"What are they doing?" Kevan heard the Strongboar ask, "It's not as if we're going to charge them."

"No, that's not what its for." The Hound grumbled.

Sure enough it wasn't. Soon the wall of shields parted in many places, and men began to throw heavy objects into the ditch. Only after watching for a few minutes did Kevan realise what they were doing. As he watched Tarly's men threw their own fallen comrades into the ditch, he heard Martyn whisper.

"Gods, that's...that's..."

"That's war, lad," Clegane cut in, "Quite clever that, but that fucker always was. We cut add to the piles with arrows my lord." Even when the Hound used a title of respect it sounded mocking. Kevan knew to ignore it.

"Yes, give the order."

* * *

The Reachmen continued their work until it was complete. Any men who fell to the renewed hail of arrows was swiftly added to the pile of the dead. It did not take long. Again there was a brief period of silence before the charge. Tarly's men flung themselves forward, using the bodies of their countrymen as bridges over the stakes. When they hit the palisade, Kevan knew it was time. Drawing his sword, he took his place in the line. His last thought before he jammed on his helm was not for his sons, his wife or daughter, but Artos Brax. _Gods, I hope he made it through_.


	104. Chapter 104: Bran VI

_NOTE - A shorter one, but just as much importance I feel. Enjoy.  
_

_Bran_

He did not know when he had last seen the sun. It was always dark now, dark and cold. The snow fell almost constantly, but lazily. Even Hodor and Ser Harrion had reached the end of their strength. Ben Umber, Meera and Jojen were flagging, even Osha and Summer were struggling. He could feel his wolf's hunger, his need to eat. It added to his own to create a most acute agony. Not one of them had eaten for at least...he did not know. There was no way to measure time in this sun-less, frozen wasteland. Only Coldhands was unaffected by the conditions. He did not eat, he did not sleep. Every night he sat alone, far from what fires they could light. Bran spent many nights lying wrapped up in his furs, wondering what the strange man was. No human could go so long without food or rest. No human could survive wearing so few layers or so far from the heat without freezing to death.

The wights did not come again, and had not since the ranger had joined them. When he had been asked why this was, Coldhands' only reply was,

"South they go. The Far North is of no interest to them any longer."

They passed the Fist of the First Men, its peak covered in the low cloud which seemed to follow them. It gave Bran an uneasy feeling, but then, so did everything now. He couldn't remember the last time he had relaxed, and was sure the others felt the same. Osha seemed particularly on edge now, which in turn seemed to make Ser Harrion uneasy.

"We've been walking for months!" moaned Ben. He had come across so tough when he and Bran first met, but his constant whining was proving extremely wearing.

"No we haven't lad," Harrion replied, clapping him on the back, a strained smile cutting through his overgrown beard. "Its only been...how long has it been?"

"No idea," Meera replied as she trudged on, hand on her brother's arm. Jojen had never been strong, this Bran knew, but he grew weaker every day, annd the dreams came to him whenever he slept. His friend had no respite from the torture of the cold, and no safe refuge in sleep. Meera understandably obsessed over him, and Bran felt the burden of guilt at dragging Jojen so far. True, his crannogman friend would never have been anywhere else, but Bran felt the guilt all the same. It must have been days since Jojen had spoken. Days of marching in the half-light, following a living dead man.

Coldhands' rattle passed back to them like a gentle wind from the front, where he sat atop his shaggy elk, "It has been nine days since I joined you. Soon we will reach our destination, where I must leave you.

"Why?" Bran asked immediately.

"Because, Brandon Stark, there are some places only accessible to the living."

* * *

Bran felt Hodor's exhaustion as they clambered to the top of the ridge, yet his mind was elsewhere. There ahead of them, atop a small knoll, stood a copse of trees. Not just any trees though, these were weirwoods. In the centre of this copse stood one, taller than the others, it's branches throwing its immediate neighbours into shadow.

The range turned to them, "I will take you to the base of the hill, from there I cannot continue for the wards will not allow me to pass."

"Wards?" Ser Harrion asked.

"Magic," Osha spat, as if the word burned her tongue.

Meera cut in, "Can we just get there please? My brother must rest." Jojen was by now practically collapsed on his elder sister, pale-faced and bleary-eyed.

They resumed their snail's pace trudge towards the hillock, but with a new determination now the goal was in sight. A crow cawed. Its rasping croak shattering the silence. Coldhands turned his elk immediately, his black eyes narrowed. Another bird echoed the first, and as if a spell had been broken, the figures emerged from the trees behind Bran and his friends.

"Go. You must all go. Now." The ranger rasped, reaching for his sword. "To the base of the largest tree, they await you there!"

"Who do?" Osha demanded.

"Who cares?" Harrion bellowed, "Get going woman!"

The wildling woman snarled, but launched into a loping run all the same, reaching out to Hodor as she did, "Come sweet giant."

The stableboy gladly turned and followed Osha, Bran bumping along on his back. He couldn't see what was coming after them, but he didn't need to. He felt useless, here on Hodor's back, with no way to help his friends. Then Jojen fell. Bran heard Meera cry, and when Hodor turned,, he saw her kneeling beside her brother as the wights bore down upon them. These dead men were not like the others. All the wights they had encountered until now had had some sort of flesh whereas these were just bones, reanimated skeletons of those long dead. Harrion and Osha rushed back to defend the two, meeting the wights head on. With no torches or way to make them, they could only knock them down, but they fought none the less. Meera managed, with Ben's help, to get Jojen on his feet, and they began to move on again.

Osha and Harrion were hard-pressed, and it looked as if they might be overwhelmed, when Coldhands returned. The ranger was amongst them like a fox among the chickens. His blade was quicksilver, the elk a juggernaut, yet it was not him that Bran saw. Bran saw the way he could help. Focusing his mind, he reached out to Summer.

* * *

_The dead men were everywhere, determined to hurt his man. He would not let that happen. He ripped bone-arms off, clawed at their bone-chests but they would not die again. Big-steel-man and stick-woman were there, as were the black-fur-man and the antler-prey. Black-fur-man's steel was fast, and made them die, but the others were pushed back. Another dead man was before him, he ripped off a leg. Then a shriek. He looked up and saw flocks of black-scavenge-birds attacking the dead men. He felt his man's mind scream inside his.  
_

_"Summer! Help Osha!"_

_Stick-woman was in danger. Summer glanced around. The dead men were everywhere, surrounding them. There she was. They were all around her. Summer charged. He didn't think, he shredded them, tore and clawed, bit and snarled. He felt his man's mind leave his._

* * *

Bran screamed. He was awake, and furious. Through Summer's eyes he had seen it, seen the wights bring Osha down. He could not see her. Where was she? Somewhere in the press.

"Hodor, go!" Bran urged the simple stableboy forwards. Hodor drew his rusty sword, and with a battlecry of "HODOOOOOOOOOR!" was among them, barrelling them left and right. That charge, and another by the ranger's elk pushed the dead back enough for Bran to see. Osha was dead. Ben and Meera had stopped, and Harrion stood over her, pale and a tear on his cheek. Bran didn't know what to say. He didn't need to. Ser Harrion Stout turned to Ben.

"I trained you lad, you're good. Now get your friends into that wood."

Ben looked up dimly, "Where are you going?"

Harrion ignored him and turned to Bran, "Lord Stark, I promised to get you to the Wall and beyond. I'd say I've done that, wouldn't you?"

"What do you mean Harrion?"

"I mean, it has been an honour to serve you my lord." The knight raised his sword in one hand, picked up Osha's spear with the other, and turned from them, running back to the battle.

"Harrion, no! Come back! Harrion! That's an order!" Bran screamed. He tried to find the knight as he disappeared into the press, but he was gone.

Meera took charge, "Bran, we must go!"

"No! We have to help him!"

"He sacrificed himself for us! We must go!" Without waiting for an answer, she spoke to Hodor, "Go Hodor, up to the trees."

The giant began to run, dropping his sword as he went. Ben and Meera followed with Jojen. Summer brought up the rear, making sure they were not attacked. Coldhands and Harrion were well out of sight by now, but must have been fighting for all they were worth, for no wights were following them.

* * *

They ran and ran, and finally reached the summit. Bran couldn't feel anything. There was pain, but he couldn't place it. He was angry. He was sad, so sad it hurt. Osha and Harrion had helped him so much, given so much, why were they dead? Why had they been taken? It wasn't fair. The tears flowed openly, as they did on the cheeks of Meera and Ben. Jojen was past emotion, barely awake.

The voice was high and sweet, yet sad. It spoke to the sadness in Bran's heart.

"You are here at last. It is many days since we sent Coldhands to you. Come."

The speaker was short, no taller than the Rickon Bran remembered. Gods it was so long ago. She, for it was a she, was clad only in leaves, her hair a tangle of red, brown and autumn gold, her eyes were green and gold, and despite her size she was clearly old. How old she was, Bran could not tell.

The Child of the Forest held out her tiny hand, "Come, the Greenseer awaits you, Brandon Stark."


	105. Chapter 105: Arya V

_NOTE - The first Arya chapter in a while, so I hope you like. As always, PM me with any requests/queries/criticisms. Favourite, Follow and Review!  
_

_Arya_

The army had marched from Winterfell the next morning. She had packed lightly, as her uncle Brynden had said. As she mounted her horse beside Lady Dacey she saw the well-honed axe hanging at the Mormont woman's side.

"My mother always told us to keep them sharp," Dacey said, "My sisters and I always do. It's not the same as your Needle, but there is a beauty to it, don't you think?"

"Yes, it's beautiful."

"Arya, you should know before we ride, I won't be in the front lines."

"But you said..."

"I did, but I also know that Robb would not be free to fight at his best if he thought I was in danger. I won't risk the success of our battle for my own wish to fight. I know you want to fight, but you must know the same applies to you."

Arya frowned, "So I can't fight either?"

"You can come with us, you can learn of command and strategy. My mother taught me that there is more to war than being able to hit someone really hard with a hunk of steel. Being a warrior-lord is not an easy path. In addition to skill-at-arms, a lord must have a comprehensive grasp of tactics, logistics and leadership. Being a warrior-lady, as my mother was and as you and I aspire to be, is even harder. We must do all the men must do, and more. We must be better, harder, smarter, faster in order to match them."

"But I want to fight." She was getting angry now.

"I know you do. I do too."

"Then why?"

"Because I am to be Robb's wife, and you are his sister. He may have done things which were badly thought out, or stupid, but he does love you. Knowing that you were in the thick of the fighting would distract him from the fight. This is a fight he cannot be distracted from. I know its not what you want Arya, but Robb needs to win this battle, and having us safe will make it that much easier for him. We will not be totally separated from the battle, just behind the lines. I will stay with you, and I get the feeling we will have to fight anyway. Can you do that? For Robb?"

Arya sighed, "Yes."

Why was it so hard for them to understand? She could look after herself. She didn't need protecting. She had killed men in battle, even a knight. True, he had had his back to her, and she had used a crossbow. Just as she was trying to justify her killing of Hosteen Frey as a victory in a fair fight, she was interrupted by the arrival of a knight on a jet black destrier. It was a magnificent beast, Arya knew it well. One of the finest of Harwin's thoroughbreds, she had seen Robb, Jon and Theon all thrown from it's back. Only her father and Rodrik Cassel had been able to ride it, as far as everyone knew. Arya knew differently. One night she had sneaked out to the stables, sat astride him bareback and ridden around the godswood. He had been rough, but had seemed calm beneath her. But no-one could know, her mother would kill her. The horse was the pride of Winterfell's stables, and well named; Shadow.

The knight on Shadow's back was strangely familiar. He was big, with mismatched armour, a Hornwood shield and a helm which covered most of his face. Gendry took off his helm and inclined his head.

"Lady Mormont, Lord Stark has assigned me to guard you."

"That is hardly necessary ser."

"He insists, my lady."

It was Dacey's turn to sigh with exasperation, "I don't need protecting! Tell Robb I don't need a guard!"

Arya suddenly realised. Dacey was like her, another woman who wanted fight, who didn't need protecting. Yet she had given that up, for what she saw as the best. For Robb.

Gendry refused to leave, "I am sorry my lady, but he said you would say that. He insists. His exact words were, 'She will object, but you will do it anyway'. Those are my orders."

Before Dacey could respond, a horn blast echoed along the column and the army gradually began to move off. Lady Mormont glared at Gendry before nudging her horse forward. Arya followed her off, and Gendry fell in beside her. Nymeria ran along the side of the Kingsroad, occasionally heading off to do her own scarred wolf was not as tame as she had been. She had to be allowed to be wild. Arya was jealous of her wolf's freedom.

"Hello Arya."

Arya grunted.

"Arya?"

She hit him on the forearm. That was a mistake. He was wearing chainmail. She refused to show the pain, she didn't need to be wrapped up and protected. Plus, she didn't want him to know she was upset.

"Arya, what's wrong?"

"I came to see you. You weren't there."

"When?"

"Every morning since I came back. You didn't come and see me. You were never there!" She struck him again, and again. On the last hit, the skin on her knuckles broke.

"Arya, I've been busy. I -"

"For two weeks? I saw you in the Great Hall with Robb and the others. You laughed and joked and drank with them. Why didn't you even come and say hello?"

"I don't know what to tell you, Arry. I am sworn to your brother now, I must do what he wishes of me."

"Don't call me that." Arya dug her heels in and trotted along the column away from him, looking for her uncle Brynden.

* * *

She rode the rest of the day with the Blackfish. She enjoyed being with her uncle. He knew she was upset, but didn't press her. He let her talk in her own time. Her mother would never have done that, nor would Robb. Nymeria was gone, and though she didn't know where, she trusted the wolf enough not to worry.

When they stopped for the night, she stayed in her tent. They didn't come for her, she didn't see anyone. As it grew dark she tried to sleep. The sounds of men preparing for the next day surrounded her. The distinctive sound of a whetstone scraping on steel, a group of them laughed around a campfire while others gambled in their tent. She fell asleep to the drunken songs of the soldiers.

* * *

She was awoken by the hand clamping down on her mouth. Her eyes snapped open, and saw a pale, leering face lit only by a candle held close to her face. She made to bite the hand, but the man slapped her and tutted.

"Now, now wolf girl, none of that. Luton, bring her."

Strong arms scooped her up and stuffed a rag into her mouth. She felt the reflex to gag, but the man pushed it further into her throat. She wriggled and writhed in the arms of her captors, but she couldn't break free.

"Don't try escape or scream, or I'll break your fingers." The man who held her grunted.

The first man whispered, "Come on, let's go."

As they emerged into the cold moonlight she got a good look at her captors. She couldn't see the one who held her, he had now slung her over his shoulder so she faced backwards. The other of the cronies was small and thin, a wicked smile plastered over his frog-like face. Their leader was chunky, with pale and blotchy skin and worm-like lips. Most noticeably though, his left arm had been severed just below the elbow. Then Arya knew who it was. She had heard Robb and Uncle Brynden talking about it over a meal one night. Ramsay Snow, the Bastard of Bolton.

Frantically she wriggled, desperate to escape. As she squirmed she worked a leg free of the man's grip and slammed her knee into his nose. With a shout, he dropped her. She hit the ground with a thud and began to rise. She did not get far.

Ramsay Snow pinned Arya to the ground with a foot and rolled her onto her back. He raised his one remaining fist.

"Nice try wolf slut."

He struck her square on the temple and she blacked out.

* * *

When Arya Stark came to, it was still dark. A fire flickered before her, which her three captors were seated around. She tried to move, but found her arms tied behind her and her body tied to a tree. Her struggling drew the attention of the leader.

"Ah, the Young Wolf's bitch sister is awake boys." His cronies chuckled as Ramsay walked over to her and tore the gag from her mouth.

"Your precious brother had no idea did he? That his worst enemy was hiding in his own army? It was so easy. Just had to sneak in and stuff my sleeves to hide my arm. The arm your brother took from me."

"That wasn't Robb, that was Gendry. Grey Wind and Nymeria will smell you out and find you. Then Robb will kill you."

"No he won't, we will be long gone by the time your brother and your precious wolves get here. Then the great Lord Stark will find your pretty little body tied to this tree. Most of you anyway. I'm going to leave your skin over there by the fire for your oh-so-special dogs to find."

His grin was what terrified Arya most. Bolton's Bastard kept talking.

"I used to have dogs too. My girls would hunt down anyone I chose, but they were in Winterfell when my father lost it. He was no true Bolton, not worthy of ruling the North."

"You're not a true Bolton either. You're a bastard!"

Arya regretted that. Ramsay slammed his fist into her stomach, knocking the wind from her. While she regained her breath, Ramsay carried on with his monologue.

"I am the true scion of the Dreadfort! Once he has found you, I will take his new woman from him. Yes, I know about the Mormont whore. You Starks really should keep your dirty secrets more hidden. I found out from a Karstark man at the latrine pit. I will rip the baby out of her and flay them, mother and child. Then he will be destroyed. Maybe after he is done I will go to Winterfell. Your mother is there isn't she? Might as well keep adding to my tally of skinless Starks. But here I am, rambling on and on while you just sit there, bored out of your tiny mind. Let me liven things up for you. Luton, hold her still, Skinner, give me your knife."

Ramsay took the thin bladed steel from Skinner and touched it to her left cheek, scoring a thin but deep cut from just beneath her eye to her jawline. She could feel the blood beading on her face and smell his foul breath as he smiled.

"Oh, I'm going to enjoy this."

Arya knew she would die. The Bastard returned the knife to her skin, but it did not last. The growls and shouts broke the silence. Ramsay and his cronies whireld round just as the Northmen burst into the moonlit clearing, Robb, Gendry and the direwolves at their head. The battle was not a contest. Grey Wind and Nymeria brought Luton down easily, tearing and shredding at him as he screamed. Robb flung himself at Skinner, striking his head from his shoulders with one blow. Gendry barrelled forwards into Ramsay, his bull's head helm glinting in the moonlight that filtered through the canopy. Ramsay had no time to move out of his way, and the battered Hornwood shield slammed him to the ground. Gendry held his swordpoint to the Bastard's throat and growled.

"You will never bother this family again."

He pushed the blade downwards. Leaving Ramsay's body, Gendry ran to Arya and held her face in both hands.

"Are you ok, Arry? What did he do?"

She couldn't speak. He wiped the excess blood from her face and kissed her forehead.

Robb rushed over and, drawing a dagger, cut the ropes binding her to the tree. Arya collapsed into Gendry's arms. She was tired, so tired. She hadn't needed protecting, she was sure of it. She cried as Gendry picked her up and carried her away.

* * *

She woke up back in her tent, Nymeria curled up at her side and watching her intently. Pushing herself up, she saw Gendry standing in the tent doorway, facing away from her. She reached for her shoe, and threw it at his back. It bounced off the back of his head, making him curse softly before turning around.

"Why aren't you guarding Lady Dacey?" She smirked.

"I've been reassigned. I know you don't think you need protecting, but after last night..." He smiled nervously.

"Who's guarding her then?"

"Lord Stark and his men. Your brother said we should both guard the ones we loved."

She hugged him tight. Finally he pulled back.

"There's someone here you need to see. Come on, get up. I'll take you to the command tent."

They trudged through the snow-covered camp, and Arya felt strange. She felt more girly than she ever had in her life. All the love nonsense had always been for Sansa, not Arya Horse-face. Now though, she felt like she was soaring. This bull-headed knight loved her. She loved him.

The command tent was packed by the time they arrived. Robb, Dacey, Uncle Brynden, the Greatjon, Lord Blackwood, Harrion Karstark, Lords Manderly, Ryswell, Cerwyn, Woolfield, Stout, Flint, Locke and many other knights and sons of lords. There was also a group of strangers. One was seated while the others stood behind his chair. They were an odd bunch. Arya's eyes were immediately drawn to the largest of them. Easily the size of the Hound, his appearance was by far the most outlandish. Clad in mail and the skin of what looked to be a huge tusked seal, the man dominated the gathering as black eyes peered from underneath bushy eyebrows. Two others stood clad in furs, one with brown hair, the other a huge beard. Then there were two in the black of the Night's Watch. One was fat and looked completely out of place, the other... was Theon Greyjoy. Without thinking, she surged forwards. Her only thought to tear him limb from limb for what he had done to Winterfell. Yet someone held her back, this was another of the newcomers, but this one she recognised from her time at Castle Cerwyn, Ser Lucas Blackwood.

"Calm down Arya," a voice said, "Theon's sins are cleared by the Watch. He did take Winterfell, but Bran is alive, and he saved my life."

She turned and saw Jon rise from the chair. He scooped her up into his arms and spun her round. She held on to him for dear life. Her bastard brother. The only one who understood her. Her favourite brother. He was alive. In the back of her mind she dimly felt Nymeria's joy as Ghost approached her. _Pack-brother_.


	106. Chapter 106: Jon X

_NOTE - Here's the next one, enjoy!  
_

_Jon_

Arya threw himself at him. Still recovering from his injuries, he shouldn't have spun her around. He put her down swiftly and resumed his seat as his head span.

"I have missed you sister, as I have missed Sansa and my brothers."

"I missed you too, Jon. Why aren't you at the Wall?"

"The Wall has fallen, Arya." He turned to the others, "The Night's Watch has failed. What few of us remain would be dead but for the Free Folk, and the timely arrival of Ser Lucas and the people of Skagos. We owe them our lives."

The looks of shock and incredulity on the faces of Greatjon Umber and the rest of the older lords were ones that Jon would have savoured, if they hadn't been in such dire straits.

"We cannot rest, my lords," he pressed on, "All the rumours are true. The Others could not come south while the Wall stood, but now..."

"They're coming." Arya finished.

"Aye, they're coming."

Jon locked eyes with Robb, and he saw his brother's fear. "How do we fight them?"

"With fire, and with these." Theon said, tossing one of the few remaining obsidian daggers onto the table in the centre of the tent.

"What is that, Turncloak?" Lord Umber rumbled.

Jon saw where this could lead, and was quick to prevent any conflict, "It is obsidian, my Lord Umber. Also, my Lord, as Theon is a commander in the Night's Watch, you will please show him the respect equivalent to his rank."

To his surprise, the Greatjon nodded, "Aye, I will, but don't expect me to apologise."

Robb moved to relieve the tension, "What are these Theon?" Though his words were civil, the anger he felt was clear enough.

"My Lord, they are obsidian, found at the Fist of the First Men. Fire will kill the wights, but the obsidian can bring down the Others."

Jon watched as Robb digested this news, "How much of this obsidian is there?"

It was Mance who replied, "My best warriors have some, but we only have a few spares."

Sam also spoke, "The records of Castle Black say that the obsidian at the Fist of the First Men was brought there from Dragonstone. They say there are huge deposits of it under the castle and the Dragonmont."

Robb nodded, "We must write to King Stannis, have his men start mining this obsidian."

Lord Cerwyn scoffed, "What would be the point? It would never reach us in time to be of any help."

"No, it wouldn't. But it may help those in the south should we fail." Lord Stark sighed, "Is there nothing else that will end them?"

"Valyrian steel," replied Sam.

"Valyrian steel," Robb repeated with incredulity. "Why are the few things that we need so few in number? Is Ice truly the only blade that will be of any use?"

"No," Jon said, "We have Longclaw." He patted the hilt of his bastard longsword with his damaged wrist, making himself wince.

Dacey Mormont stared, "My uncle Jeor's sword."

"Yes. He gave it to me when I was his steward. He said it should have gone to his son, but that he was gone." He didn't tell the rest of the tale, not wanting to stir up any old feelings on the subject of Jorah Mormont's exile.

"My father has another," suggested Sam.

"Lord Tarly is unlike to lend it us, or to come himself. He is warring with Stannis in the south." Jon reminded his friend, "But we are losing our focus. We must be considering our strategy. We must find a fortress to use. One they cannot leave untaken. How about the Hearth?"

It was Lord Umber who replied, "Our walls are strong, and well used to wildling attack," he glared at Tormund and Mance, "but an attack of this scale..."

Brynden Blackfish finished the Greatjon's thought, "The walls are wooden, we need stone. Winterfell it must be."

Robb frowned, "But we have just marched north, would it not be wiser to tackle them head on?"

"No," said Jon, "You must trust us Robb. We have fought them before, and we know that we cannot win an open battle. We barely held them at the Wall for as long as we did."

"Very well, Winterfell it is. Lord Umber, ride ahead with your family, prepare your people to move south with us. We will house them in Winterfell until this is over."

Again, Brynden Tully spoke up, "Is that wise, my lord? You already have the Skagosi in the castle, as well as the people of the Winter Town, and soon this army. Will your supplies last?"

"We will make them last. I will not leave any of my people to the mercy of these monsters. My lords, prepare your men. Dismissed, all of you. Lord Commander, please stay."

As all the others dispersed, Harrion Karstark lingered.

"My Lord, I beg a moment of your time." Jon had never known Harrion well, but this seemed uncharacteristically deferential.

"Speak Harry," Robb bade him.

"I must apologise, my Lord, for my rash words a few nights ago. I did not think before I spoke. To threaten to leave this army, and break my bonds of oath in doing so, was rash and careless. We can only face this together, and I would rather die fighting by the side of my friend than alone in my castle. My sister came to me after I stormed out and I heed her counsel. I am here, and I will fight."

"Let us never speak of it again, Harry my friend. I judged your reaction to be understandable, if not quite justified. You are here, and that is what matters most."

"Thank you Robb."

Once he had gone, Robb called for wine and sat behind his campaign desk, gesturing for Jon to sit opposite him.

"Take a seat brother, and tell me everything."

"Everything?"

"Everything. From when you left for the Wall to the moment you rode that daft sledge into our camp."

So Jon told him everything. He told Robb about how Thorne made his training hell, about Uncle Benjen's disappearance, of going to Winterfell, Theon, the Nightfort, Bran's mission, battling the wildlings, becoming Lord Commander and then promptly losing the Wall.

Robb had laughed at that, "The first Lord Commander not elected properly, and the first to lose the Wall, what do your men think of that?"

"Most don't link the two, but some are superstitious."

"Enough to worry about?"

"Not at all. I have barely a hundred men left to me! If I managed to make a rebellion out of that, I would not be fit for my rank."

"True enough!" Robb raised his cup again and emptied it.

They talked long into the night, with Robb telling Jon of all he had been through and seen.

"Rickon? With a girl? Gods that makes me feel old!"

"I know!" Robb laughed, "Gods I have missed you brother."

"I've missed you too, Robb."

His brother seemed to become solemn, "Do you ever think about how it could have been?"

"If I hadn't gone to the Wall? Sometimes. I would have gone south with you to war."

"No, I mean if father hadn't gone south with King Robert."

"Well I suppose father would still be alive. Joffrey eventually become King, and then the war would start all over. Stannis would challenge Joffrey's claim, and father would support Stannis as you did. You say he already knew of Joffrey's parents?"

"Aye he did. It was him and Old Jon Arryn who figured it out, or so he says. You're right though, father would have supported him and we'd be at war again. Would I be forced to wed a Frey?"

"I doubt it. Old Frey robbed you blind for that bridge, he wouldn't have got that from father."

Robb sighed as he finished his cup again, and as he poured them both another.

"Have I done it all wrong Jon? Should I have married Alys?"

"No, you did what was right. By marrying Dacey you give that child so much. A father, a family, a home, a name." Jon pursed his lips as he thought of all the times he had been labelled 'bastard'. "His name will be Stark, rather than Snow. Snow is for bastards. A Snow is faceless, nameless. A Snow is nothing."

He looked to his brother for his reaction, only to find Robb asleep. He had sunk back in his chair, his chin sagging onto his chest, his hand on Grey Wind's head as it rested on his leg. Jon smiled. His brother had been at war far too long, with all the cares of the North on his shoulders. Politics and rule were two things Jon was glad did not come with his position as Lord Commander. He was a military commander, and that was all. He whistled to Ghost as he stood, and the wolf rose with him. He took two steps before he stumbled, wincing as he used his bad arm to check his fall. He'd obviously drunk more than he thought. As he staggered out past the guards, he stopped and told them.

"My brother is tired. He will be spending the night here. Keep an eye on him."

"Yes, Lord Commander."

He stumbled back to his tent, dimly aware of Ghost padding along silently behind him. Jon collapsed onto his camp bed, and slept.

* * *

He awoke to the sound of an army preparing to move off. He pulled on his boots and set out with Ghost toward where his own men were camped. The remainder of the Night's Watch were looking dramatically worse for wear. Jon went immediately to the tent where Thoren Smallwood lay, with Clydas fussing over him. The First Ranger was struggling. Smallwood's leg wound had become infected and the man was feverish, with his eyes rolled back into his head.

"Clydas, what can you do for him?"

"Nothing, Lord Commander. I do not think he will live, the cold should delay infection, but I still cannot stop it. All I can do is ease his passing with milk of the poppy. I do not believe will live out the day."

"When he passes, see he is burnt with dignity. I will give the rites."

"Yes, Commander."

Jon left the tent and the stench of rotting flesh immediately cleared. This was not good. Mallister had been crushed as the Wall fell, Marsh turned into a wight and beheaded by Jon's blade, Othell Yarwyck had been lost in the retreat from Castle Black, and now Smallwood was dying. That left him only Pyke and Theon.

The two of them and Iron Emmett approached him.

"Lord Commander," Pyke began, "Still no word from the Shadow Tower or Eastwatch. Most like they have fallen."

"There is nothing we can do about that. We join Lord Stark in pulling back to Winterfell. Pyke, prepare the men to move out."

As the grizzled veteran saw to his duties, Jon turned to Iron Emmett. "You are now First Ranger. Go and get ready to leave."

With just Theon left beside him, Jon began to walk. It was his second who broke the silence.

"Jon... I don't think Robb will ever forgive me."

"Most likely not."

"Why did you try to convince him to?"

"What?"

"He sent for me this morning and he told me that you had stuck up for me to him."

"I only said that I understood why you did what you did, and that the Watch has wiped away your crimes."

"Whatever you did, he said I should thank you."

They were then interrupted by a squire. "Lord Commander, Lady Stark requests you go to her."

"Tell her I am on my way. Commander Greyjoy, see to the men."

* * *

Arya was waiting for him in her tent. She sat impatiently on her camp bed, her knight bodyguard stood just inside the entrance. When Jon entered, it was all he could do to stay standing as Nymeria barrelled into him and began licking his face, her heavy paws on his shoulders.

"Down Nymeria!" Arya scalded her wolf. As the direwolf backed away, Arya hugged Jon close to her.

"I missed you so much."

"I missed you too, sister. Robb tells me you have had some adventures of your own since I last saw you. Not all good. How are you Arya?"

"I'm ok, he didn't hurt me too much. Gendry arrived before that could happen."

Jon saw that she was looking at her guard. He noticed how she looked at him, and how he looked at her. He approached the man and, reaching up, placed a hand upon his shoulder.

"I thank you Ser, for looking after my little sister."

"Just doing my duty my lord."

"It was you who killed Ramsay Snow?"

"It was, my lord."

Jon slapped his hand on the man's shoulder plate before turning back to Arya.

"How goes your training with Needle?"

"Good, I'm pretty handy with a crossbow too." She went on to tell him about the battle at Riverrun, and how she saved her Uncle Brynden. Just as she finished, Gendry spoke up,

"Lady Stark, we should be loading up the horses, the army will be moving off. They want to take down the tent."

"Gendry, call me Arya!"

"Yes, Arya."

Jon stood, "I must go to my men, I will see you soon."

* * *

They set off within the hour. Robb was obviously anxious, as he really drove his forces hard. At one stage, with the exhausted men of the Watch flagging, Jon rode forward to ask his brother to slow, but Robb would not.

"We need all the time we can at Winterfell, so we get there as soon as possible."

"Robb, it is nearly dark. We must stop."

"We cannot risk being overtaken."

"I told you they only attack in the dark didn't I?"

"You did, but winter is here. If we only moved in the light they would easily reach Winterfell before us. We must push on."

In his heart, Jon knew his brother was right.


End file.
